Like treasure on your shelf
Carry thyself
You can do that yourself
Copyright © 2016 by Love Talk
All rights reserved.
This post is in response to the daily prompt: Shelf
Like treasure on your shelf
Carry thyself
You can do that yourself
Copyright © 2016 by Love Talk
All rights reserved.
This post is in response to the daily prompt: Shelf
Don’t sting the most stunning girl from heaven:
Her lightface is like gold but not stone-cold:
Eyes shine like stars, stars like eyes of the sun;
Bold smiles are her styles: virtue to behold.
This is the girl, down-to-earth on this earth:
Her embrace gives life; life gives her a face;
She likes childbirth, a virtue worth her worth:
Matchless grace, not found in a marketplace;
Human, one a human calls a woman,
Mum, yes a mum, even without a child,
For in her pain, she’s still sane and human;
In her heart, she’s a sweetheart to a child;
Don’t sting her, sing for her and marry her,
She’s humane, again a stunning creature.
Copyright © 2016 by Love Talk
All rights reserved.
Photo: Courtesy: Unsplash.com
I live in this beautiful earth,
Full of life and daily childbirth,
So unique there’s no place like it,
Even if all I do is to baby-sit.
I long for gravity, ready for a mission to mars:
A world so different from ours
Where there’re no tars and streetcars.
Although I hope I could view the stars
And light a few cigars,
Otherwise my life in mars
Will leave me with regrettable scars.
Copyright © 2016 by Love Talk
All rights reserved.
This post is in response to the daily prompt: Longing For Gravity
If I were her hubby, I’d be lovely,
Make her my queen, her looks sixteen and clean;
I’d gild her crown, take her to town with glee,
Sing and cling to her, as seen on my screen.
If I were her hubby, I’d make her laugh,
Won’t act out of spite, despite her glitches;
Above all, love her in full, not in half,
And celebrate her birth where she chooses;
I won’t push her aside, or leave her side,
Fail to provide for her and our children,
Or torment her to dent her well-prized pride,
Even if she’s stiff, sick, thick, and barren.
In fact, in life, we will be the happiest
Until I lie still in furrows of dust.
Copyright © 2016 by P. A. Owala
All rights reserved.
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