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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
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More in Jasmine's Poetry How A Mother Is BornMy first attempt at cinquain. I was proud of it yesterday. Today I am not. Who knows what tomorrow holds.
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Rapture, orgasm, yes! It always goes back to sex. What? A broken condom? Shit, what now? 2 Jasmine, sigh softly. Speak with delicate petal undertones. Step lightly around flowers. 3 Pregnant - tender breasts and morning puke. Oh lovely round belly, you feel just like sex- tuplets. 4 Breathe, breathe. The head won't fit. Doctor says there must be an emergency incision. Breathe, my son. 5 First words: mommom mama? mommy mom my mama momm am a mom mymom am a mommy. 6 Breakfast is eggs and toast, Bukowski and coffee. You don't listen as it gets cold, then leave. 7 Wonder - your eyes: black pools, liquid filled awe over blowing bubbles. We learn to laugh like kids.  Derma Kaput - I think you can remain proud. I've only read through these once, but it seems like a terrific series on first glance. You have a very natural touch with the cinquain - nothing really seems forced, and what you expressed is timeless. Nice job.  Rws - This was nicely done and difficult to fault. And who could ask for more than learning to be a child again? |
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