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The Epigrammatic SoulYou keep killing time,The Epigrammatic Soul
and time keeps killing you; but you are immortal,
and so it is isn't true.
by ~YvesMB
An Old RhymeThe stars think much of vertigo, Their dimming and the sinking dove, And not enough about my love.An Old Rhyme
by ~YvesMB
Sonnet 2I always thought of Batman as repressed in tight black rubber and swish golden belt; seeing his parents killed made him depressed and all the villains felt the rage he felt. Repression is what made the Hulk so strong, the anger hacking his genetic code, when green and musclebound he banished wrong and wrong returned in next week's episode.Sonnet 2
But what if Spiderman took one scared blink before he leapt from skyscraper to air? And what if Superman just flew away and left the world in someone else's care? Reading hero comics make me think, but what if no one comes
by ~YvesMB
Collected TrioletsThere are some stories I can’t tell. You are too old for fairytales. You are too old for carousels. There are some stories I can’t tell. You father said he wished you well. He said the card is in the mail. There are some stories I can’t tell. You are too old for fairytales.Collected Triolets
It’s hard pretending not to care. Your smile is worn on mannequins. I’m sure I saw one wear your hair. It’s hard pretending not to care That you are standing, silent, there And separation is glass thin. It’s hard pretending not to care. You sm
by ~YvesMB
Favourites
An Anti-Progression TrioletI set the watermelon down, give my allowance to the clerk. Right arm, left arm, both around-- I put the watermelon down and try a roll along the ground, but think it isn't going to work. I plunk the watermelon down, and get my refund from the clerk.An Anti-Progression Triolet
by ~Torby-ADK
Firedancerby ~keaalu
river rockby *kimbas
Second-hand SmokeThen they'd haul the cage back in, with its catch of miners dredged from the mountain's cavity. Even their eyeballs were black, see - they'd look like buried men dug back from coal hells to return in silence to villages of wives and children.Second-hand Smoke
Smoking kills say the scattered packets of Lambert. But, we live squeezed between hollowed monoliths, lurking along roads clogged by town after town. If this air that tastes of roof tiles doesn't kill us; if this damp, that keeps us damp until the rain returns, doesn't kill us; if the pressure of each person's personal slag heap wei
by ~007-bewareofthesnowm
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I look forward to reading more of your writing.
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Founder of =Inked-Page | Staff for *100ThemesChallenge, *ProsePlease | Lit Critic at *devCRIT
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I hoped this one would pass muster with you. Last year's attempt was a muddled disaster. Thanks for the fave.
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