metaphoricalsimile's profile

When I wake up, the only decoration in the room is a wreath of cigarette and marijuana smoke that lazily curls around the naked bulb in the ceiling of our studio apartment. I climb out of the top bunk of the bed I share with my younger brother. It's hard to escape the view of anyone in a space that small. My brother and my father are sitting on the floor. My brother talks animatedly of nothing, spewing out words that fill the air as surely as my father's smoke. My father sits in a full lotus,...

Eddie removed his worn, brown fedora with one hand and ran his other hand through a sweaty porcupine of blond hair. His blue eye furtively twitched at the peephole of the front door to his apartment. When he felt, if not safe, free from immediate danger he turned away from the door and flopped down on his unmade bed next to Lola; she squeaked. He had rescued her from a wretched hive of scum and villainy, a white-slave den called "Adult Store." When he had seen her on display like a puppy, he ...

She was kneeling on the carpet. Her long, blond hair was bound in a bun. Her thin, stringy frame quivered with the violence of her scrubbing. Her long fingers tingled at the edge of burning from exposure to the chemicals which lay strewn about her: a Stone Henge of brightly colored bottles and cans of bleaching, foaming, color-restoring sprays and solutions, some upright, and some fallen where they had been cast away after failing the woman. Their lack of utility brought tears of frustration ...

Play that eternal Song with me. Pluck the strings of flesh, quivering with quickening ecstacy. Sing with gasping notes: a half-heard harmony for our ears alone. Beat those drums: a percussion of pounding pulse and energy. And dance that dance of sweat slicked skin and writhing limbs that lasts forever in just one night.

What kind of poetry do you like? Do you pore over lines that rhyme? Do you skip lightly to the beat Of bouncing words with rhythmic feet? Do you like free verse which jangles and shocks you into the clear pool of introspection? Do you like sweet sounds, Oft spoken, Of love's sweet tokens? Or would you rather hear Less common sentiment? When you said, "A man Who writes poetry," Let me know What you meant.