deep, for her, love hurts, pain, passion, romance, sin,
by Honcho Mars |
The deadly games we play
She crept in my mind
The effect of smoking cannabis
Her love sank in
Like the bite of a rattlesnake
Only more deadly
My own fault for provoking it
Taunting love I gave
How sweet the taste
Upon my lips
Stricken by your venom
Your way of loving
Me in return
They say love hurts
I would have to agree
Loving you is painful
But yet still delightful
I am like a shadow
Returning at first light
At your door
You will find me
Will you let me in?
Desiring one more taste
My beautiful sin
Let the madness begin.
by Regina McIntosh |
funny, hilarious, horse, humor, humorous,
Appaloosa, Mustang or Paint
Breeds to ride and love, breeds who ain’t
Broken by pain or heartbreak
But show them a rattlesnake
That horse won’t have much self-restraint
High Noon Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
May 2, 2022
by Casey Valencia |
beauty, books, christian, friend, love, people, success,
NO LUNGFULS OF HOPE
In the beginning, you are uttering sugary words
Words that surprisingly became schmaltz for me
And I used to believe them
Cos I was lame back then
Your slippery mouth that distorted candor like cherry stems
Just like fangs of a rattlesnake
Leaving the subtle types of bane
I don't know if I'll hate you or myself
But one thing is for sure
I don't like you anymore
Subsuming your alp of thrills
And If I am inside the car right now
Maybe looking at the rearview mirror
Watching your body smolder in ashes
You. Are. Not. Worthy.
by randy johnson |
food, funny, on writing and words,
(This is a fictional poem)
I love eating rattlesnake because it's so good.
I'd eat it three times a day if I could.
You haven't lived until you've eaten snake stew.
It's mighty tasty and it sticks to the ribs like glue.
Some people prefer chicken, pork or steak.
But nothing makes my mouth water like rattlesnake.
by Taylor Graham |
nostalgia, places, time,
Cienega Campground – Science Club
planted sapling pines, you spooked
a rattlesnake – all those hopeful pines
rot now at the bottom of a reservoir.
Alfalfa fields where you used to ride
bareback, easing the math lessons
out of your spine – fields diced now
into “Drive” and “Court” and “Avenue.”
Soledad Canyon, where you looked out
the late-bus window in the dark
for that one true-love star – it’s
just a freeway exit now.
Life extends its plains forever.
Who rewrites geography, a child’s
own history, when the place
it happened doesn’t exist anymore?