Poems
Poems
Grafted Lips
Grafted lips upon her knee
Trembling thighs pushed apart
Twisted inward at creamed hued I’s.
Supple breath sucked in quick
Whispered echo’s from long ago love sonnets
Ah, who, ah, who.
Terse vagina’s bled blue
Onto the hardened floor
Splinted lovers cross, from the day before.
A vow of celibacy she unwillingly pledged
No more, no more till the night she weds.
Copyrighted by Donna Barnes
The Mailbox
I dash to the mailbox in search of those long awaited letters
Anticipation aroused as the keys strike up against each another
The envelope ripped open,
and the rejection poured out
the sadness seeped into my weeping soul
All hope is gone today.
I try again the next day,
I lick the envelopes, and
seal them tight,
I close my eyes
and pray for a successful flight.
Will I become successful?
Will the publishers accept my brand of creativity?
I only know that I must try again.
All I’ve heard is “It takes skill, talent and perseverance”.
Dozens of no’s,
very few yeah’s,
what will I do if no one ever takes a chance on my writing?
Someone will right?
Copyrighted by Donna Barnes
09/15/91
Love Conquers All
"Love attracts Love-Hate attracts Hate" D. Barnes
Brooding Lips
Those red brooding lips,
Curving upward
As if to say,
Stay away.
Those eyes,
Bluer than a cornflower,
Sparkling as if someone sprinkled gold dust into them,
Deeper than any sunken ocean liner
Toward a depth I’ve never imagined,
A constant flow of Yin and Yang
Your unnatural red hair,
Shines in the moonlight,
Glow.
Side by side we travel as partners
She leaves me breathless still.
Twisted Metal
Twisted metal burned
Lives ended, and the living became the dead
Forever mutated into a sea of blood.
Cockpit doors broken down
Produced waves of panic, palpable to the touch
Fear of the holocaust camps and in lies
He marched into foreign lands and despised
Evil doers perish with the good
Principles end, with his pride
Win at any cost, in a fruitless battle
The bane of our existence needed to change
Treat ever provincial the same, otherwise
Drive the good men down into the depths of the raging hell.
Sept 20, 2001
Copyrighted by Donna Barnes
A Survivor’s Tale
The timing is right,
forth hence,
the torment has culminated.
The scar lanced,
bile pulped
pus poured.
Oozes of white infectious bacteria
bled
burgundy hemoglobin.
The instrument of the surgeon,
is placed on a metal tin tray,
savoring another patient
and a day.
Donna Barnes
Published Suffolk Community College Newspaper.
12/21/85
Love is the answer to everything.
The forsythia burst out yellow blooms dissolving the
Decaying winter, but my emotions taunt me still.
The mini grape hyacinths smell like sacrine sugar plums,
Pale is my skin from too many days in long sleeve shirts.
The blue jays and sparrows sing to each other,
But they only make me sad.
I need to run from dark mournful whispers.
And my eyes water from the pollen in the air,
The antibodies race to pump up my immune system, but
It leaves me numb, like in life.
Humble, I begin a new like the seasons which unfold to
Spring, summer, fall, winter, anger, pain, tears, and finally joy.
