The Literate Epoch

i still
walk behind
everything you ever wrote
like the fall that goeth
after the sin of pride
we still
be children chasing dreams
like we can’t get woke
on a September 2nd school day
after a particular long summer
when will we ever learn?
he still
be a stupid boy
like skipping high school
and shopping the mall
in his letterman’s jacket
she still
be beautiful
like she was birth
from morning dew
shot at close range
with 15 megapixels
we still
paint a pretty picture
they still
waiting for sunrise
like grandpa robert
forking the land
before half the day is done
i still
remember sweetness
like first piece of pecan pie
smeared on baby face
in childhood high chair
and it tastes like warm
i ain’t made of steel
and i honor
these muddled emotions
everytime
i’m still

fuhgeddaboutit!

the aostillborn

written by The AOMuse

she loved me
like a fresh vegetable
as i yielded
to her green thumb
she fertilized me
with a layer of compost
and contemplation
was art
how she could
twist the remains
into a warm
accumulation
of decomposition
egg shells
grass clippings
fireplace ashes
newspaper shreds
browns
carbon rich
greens
nitrogen plenty
filled with earthworms
whom aerate my soil
consume pieces of me
together
in uniformity
i want to be as basic
as brown humus
in the heart
of your hands
as we beat
earthy renewal

"can i be your garden variety?"

neverletawordslipby!

the aoplantedfirm

written by The AOMuse

choose an element. each of u will create a poem that explores intimacy. your poem must somehow relate to the element u chose. the relation can be literal, metaphorical or abstract. one more rule. your poem must be written from the perspective of the opposite gender. -mary jane burns

like taut goat skin
i beat his shango drum
stoking the flicker
of flames raging
in the warrior priest’s
temple
make worship
of bronze
and molten metal
we smelt
the weapons
of civilization
preparing post-haste
to renew earth
on the eve
of his return to adam
alas
apples
and serpents
again
usurp us
as he coupled
hands and fingers
’round the root
of an
extraterrestrial
being
i saw once fertile soil
compost
compounded
on the rule of 72
form stony igneous
and scorch cities
under the effusive
flowing of lava
and the ashes
of the aftermath
held a moment
still in time
before man
was made mud
once more
also
in god’s image
a formless
dark matter
never again
to take shape
in the space
of my own
infinity

issheisorissheaint?!?

the aoladyfingers

written by The AOMuse

okay fam here is the challange: take a member’s existing avatar and write a piece on it.  not about the poet per say, but about their avatar, if the two are not one and the same. – alvetta

couch
these roots
in the color
of chlorophyll
against an aura
golden flecked
rich with sun
renew me each day
we arrive
self sustained
supplanted
this stem stands
with backbone firm
i am not
your
fragile flower
i am
learning
to transform
each issued
breath
from mere
greenhouse gas
to the oxygen
of a new day
i inhale
the rich aroma
of creation
to exhale
a living wind
grasp a handful
of dark earth
when you forget
what is real
water my garden
for the fruit
i produce
shall be
sufficient
to feed
hungry nations
as you eat
offerings
from my
giving tree
resist the urge
to pluck
me barren
honor our
symbiotic cycle
as we feast
upon each other
find fullness
in tempering
your appetite

andiamstillhungry…lordallowmetodrinksomemore!

the aodevelopmentarrested

written by The AOMuse

so without giving up someone obvious as the first wife (’specially since my only known wife went and kissed some other woman ‘fore me : all i know is that the both of youse best to fix me a dynamite dinner when ya’ll done making out ) : i’m going to introduce for those that don’t know : this lil’ dumpling who goes by the name "get_christie_love" : damn : i fawn over her words : like bambi to mama doe : that’s not her real picture above : ((at least i don’t think)) : and my eyes first locked with her words : while i was engaged in reading "my midnight meditation" over at the soultry forum : what do i know of her? : she’s a detroit-ite : or is it detroit-ian? : hell : she live in motor city : and she has this wicked unkempt humor : appearing in random intervals : not unlike the feigned foolish wisdom of my ‘nother other wife : and that’s about it : she don’t pop up her head many places any more : not even her own damn forum : barring the occasional quirky remark : or poetic spill : at the projx : so i ain’t had a proper exchange with her : but as with all my wives : someday : we’z gon’ make sweet, passionate poetic bliss together : as we walk down the aisle of words : here’s a sampling of what she did on : midnight meditation : and how i had to come back : to snuff out the bedroom lights

my midnight medtation

you don’t know this
but
i like to sleep facing
your back-
i like to slip in
closer and closer
until my forehead is
resting between your shoulder blades and
when you sigh,
it caresses where my bangs
used to grow.
you don’t know this
but
i like to sleep
with my arm on your thigh,
resting in the crook of your hip where it starts to get
a little rough to the touch.
most men have it.
that rough patch right where the hips are
and
i like to feel it
you don’t know this
but
i like to sleep on my side
facing your back,
and i raise my inside arm to
play with your face
trying to wake you then
i act like
i’m still asleep. and when
you drift off
i do it again this
it’s my favorite part of all because
if i succeed
in arousing a sneeze then
i’ve got your full attention
and i wait
til you flip over,
and i flip over,
and
you
sleep
facing my back
with your arm on my waste cutting off the circulation but
i don’t move it
because
i love you and
i deserve it.

and you deserve
every moment
of your obliviousness
because i love you
for you don’t know
that i sneak you
an extra glass
of chardonnay
before bedtime
because i love the way
your ass wiggles
when you rush to release
in the dimly lit walk
to bathroom door
you don’t know
that i recognize
every dimple
in every cheek
even in darkness
you don’t see me peek
beyond the barrier
of your dressing screen
you don’t hear
my hushed scream
or notice that
i bite my nails
at the sight
of your silhouette
tiny flickers
of light
that illumine
my thoughts
a quarter past midnight
as you tickle
and i ignore
to implore
you
to continue
the game
but you don’t notice
that this
midnight samsara
is my focus
as i shift from
my right side
to a position
that eventually sends
my left arm
into numbness
by morning
you don’t know
that i would rather
be discomforted
in your comfort
than experience
a moment without
you knowing me.

whatyouknowboutme!

the aofeigningignorance

written by The AOMuse