playing

The Nymph

She was a beauty
Hair like silk.
 
She was colored gold,
Skin white as milk.
 
I saw her in my mind,
Felt her in my arms.
 
Woke up from the nightmare,
Recalling no harm.
 
The thoughts went on for hours,
The dreams went on for years.
 
Day merged into week,
Tear after tear.
 
She tore my family,
The silky haired nymph.
 
But so long as I got my fix, 
My ambitions would remain limp.
 
One day I saw the girl,
On 23 and 8th.
 
Just as I had remembered her,
Every little detail in place.
 
I approached her from behind,
Courteous as could be.
 
She said a kind "Hello",
And acted like she'd never met me.
 
"'Tis I" I replied,
She giggled and turned away.
 
I grabbed her by the hair,
I was never one to play.
 
I was oblivious to her screams,
It was all in good fun.
 
Surely she must remember!
She was the one!
 
I took her back home, 
Laid her in bed.
 
Gave her a drink,
Stroked the silky hair on her head.
 
"Let me go," she pleaded,
But I had done no wrong.
 
Surely she must be joking,
We'd been together for so long.
 
This went on for months,
The silky haired girl and I.
 
I never got her name,
All she did was cry.
 
One night she tried to run,
Oh how dumb she must've thought I.
 
But I let her go swift And fast,
She could never hide.
 
As you can well imagine,
I found her hiding in the forest
On the following eve.
 
She was broken, matted, helpless,
Simply Splitting at the seams.
 
I could take a hint,
She didn't want my love.
 
So I let her go,
With a passionate push and loving shove.
 
I have yet to confess her whereabouts
She's still "missing" to this day.
 
The bitch should've listened 
 
 
                         I was never one to play.
 
 
Author's Notes/Comments: 

Over & out.

 

STALAG 17

Remember when you didn’t know about
Death…..
Every day was an adventure
Highlights…
Your Toys….
Ice-cream…
A walk through the fields
Like a trip into the unknown
Just two miles….
Will you get home before its dark?
Dirty knees…
Sole flapping on your shoe….
No resupply…
Till Mams sausage and mash…
Sunday night…..
Bloody bath-night…
Nick your chin…
Dads razor….
Torch on under the sheets
‘JAP KILLER’ in the Commando
Torch flickers…..
I will dig a tunnel
Escape Stalag 17
Lights out….
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ……

© Tony McNally

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A Breeze of Memory

A graveyard of dead trees

Fallen leaves of vast red and orange seas

Squirrels scurry before winter strikes

As children play while others pass on bikes

 

harmony of the trees an the wind come together and sing

As a bird chirps then stops to clean it's wing

Children shrieking and screaming as they play

Angry armies of cars roar past, then fly away

 

Memories start of when I was a kid

Only broken away by time an what it did

Sitting still only in question

Of who I am and to what is my impression

 

I laughed . . . I played here

I was happy unknown of fear

But then reality again breaks memory's connection

Only to be lost again, still unknown of my reflection

 
Like
 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

annnd, here you have yet another class assignment that I did way back.

 

Fishing season

It's ice fishing season again.

I'm in the mood for sushi.
All the fish are still tasty but I want something different. I can't even remember all the names of them I have in the bucket.

I'm a carnivore. Who the fuck am I kidding. Maybe one day I'll find a great vegan restaurant. Maybe I'll start liking different vegetables.

Maybe I'll still think of Noah with every step.

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Hooker

Folder: 
1st poems

You do the same thing with all them guys
You mess and play with their minds
But you won’t do the same thing with me
Because I’ll treat you differently
I can make you bounce like a bunny
But first you gotta suck all my honey
If you really want that money.

Your price I can easily pay
Your pretty cheap
I know you wanna play
And like nobody else I can go really deep.

On the backseat of my car
In the park
You're an experienced porn star
And like the dog you are I'll make you scream and bark.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a more morbid poem. It just came to me :)

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PLAYING (CINQUAIN)

Folder: 
CINQUAIN

As children 
on the beach
gathering shells for our
many collections.

copyright heather burns

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