Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.
Topic 23: Write a poem inspired by a family conflict. Form : any Line requirements: 8 lines or more
‘You fucked that skanky ho!’ my mother screams.
The party freezes. Fridays after work,
all pressure off, we party hard. It seems
my Dad’s been caught again. He’s such a jerk.
He’s stuck it up her cousin too, young Ganny
who follows him around and rolls his smokes.
If he could find her grave he’d root his granny
or so he likes to boast to all the blokes.
It’s not the fact she’s married to her brother
that bothers Mum, as much as knowing he
with all the power his, the filthy mother,
will soon have fucked her whole damned family
and when your Dad is Zeus, and grabs your tit
you’re shamed, and proud, and horny too, a bit.
Parents in debt to parents
sell their children for a day.
Christmas at my Grandmother's, again.
Boredom as ill concealed as a bicycle
in wrapping paper. Full to vomiting,
my sister and I electrocuted ourselves,
(arguing, they said).
Next year, as inevitably as unwanted socks
and pinched reminders to say 'thank you',
we returned; forbidden sockets, plugs
and anything sharp. Seen, unheard. Bored.
We’ll support anyone you’d like to marry, as long as they love The Lord. Is he a Christian?
[The boyfriend was raised Catholic.]
―Please note the parsing, what’s said and unsaid.―
You’re living together, unmarried? [Yes. And we’re building an alter in the backyard for sacrificing goats to Satan.]
―I’m so funny.―
We don’t have stipulations for the wedding ceremony, but we’d like to hear The Lord spoken of accurately. None of this ‘god is in everything’ crap. Here are some verses to read aloud.
[It’s a signature and a rubber stamp, mother; I doubt the lady behind the window takes requests.]
―Grandma’s lips wrestle each other in every picture.―
We will continue to pray for the salvation of your children. [Good, those beasts deserve punishment. Eternal and preferably by fire.]
How are you with The Lord? [You’d have to ask him.]
―She is, of course, deathly serious. Sleep well, mom. The worms don’t care.―
(04-23-2018, 11:54 AM)Todd Wrote: Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.
Topic 23: Write a poem inspired by a family conflict. Form : any Line requirements: 8 lines or more
However ,that family tree must fell in teen's deep well
whenever i take tea under lamp voices
whyever luck have sexy nudes then
windows share me to the wind
mothers usually play christ role in your cells
explotions make you sink in sin
think in thin girl championship never born
in wet walls sisters always in god house ...charges never
cost daughters single idea ... fathers has always chairs
brothers always die in fight ... family is the tree that you
can never get..rid
I took every pair,
even though you didn't leave them to me.
They're tight in the crotch.
an area you pretended didn't exist
like that bar on the other side of town.
Your denial was a shield used
to bash the world, but no sword;
nothing about you was sharp.
Still, these pants fit better
than any dress you bought for me.
There were always questions.
We would raise our heads,
and a wire loop would tighten,
making it difficult to breathe.
If we struggled long enough
the wire would dig deeper
cutting rings like a tree as it ages.
Food would lodge in our throats
and escape though in sight
but forever out of reach.
The lava lamp signalled
a molten age of decadence,
parents out with friends,
leather jackets and moustaches.
Old enough to be on my own
and on my own enough to be stuck in.
Brother would be the first home,
a drunken arrogance of loaded questions,
him the boiling kettle, me the whistle.
No matter how hot the handle
I would be the one to lift us of the gas.
I still have the burn marks to rub
when I hear his plastic body filling up.
My reaction now is automatic,
a bi-metallic face to disconnect his power.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
