The poem bares its teeth: a hyena,
laughter breaking in jagged bursts,
circling the margins,
menace felt in scuffling shadows.

Then it rises upright: a meerkat,
eyes darting across horizons,
paws quick in sudden scurry,
a hesitant vigil before burrowing.

Between circling and scurry,
menace and play entwine,
scarfing fragments into chorus
more than jotted lines on a page.

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hello poetry

Beneath the rustling of an unwritten page,

a quiver begins—soft as rain on glass.

Words lean toward each other,

testing the air between syllables,

like strangers exchanging glances

before they dare to speak.

Here, the ink is not just ink—

it is breath, the slow unfurling of a thought

that has waited years for its own voice.

Every line a b...

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Cry and cry, till I die

Can you hear,  I want you by me

As we used to play

In the long golden grass, 

My beautiful one. Long gone

Four years, but still with me

Played till state authorities saw

And stole from us our life, 

Raped us for themselves 

Persecuted us, we ran, not mad

To escape their tether chains cells

Far away, beyond altitude. 

For we are ...

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{I'm Out Of My Head}

Rose's are red,

Violet's are blue,

I'm out of my 

head with thinking

of you 

and all I want to

do is to go to

sleep to dream

of you all

the same 

©Tina Glover All Rights Reserved/ One_Pissed_Off_American_Ghost_Writer 2016 but posting here on April 14,2018 

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