Coffee and Cake.

This is a collaboration piece between myself and a great poet Ron Bergquist, you can discover his amazing works over here at his Blog Ron Bergquist  he writes raw and real no bullshit pretty bows, go check him out :). Him and his work is like a breath of fresh air :).

I say we wrote it, but actually he coaxed the words from me pulling them out from the depths of writers block he then spun his amazing web of thought around them and created this little masterpiece. He did all the hard work, I just sat about drinking coffee and looking pretty.

Thank you Ron, your encouragement was immensely appreciated.

 

Take me away on the whisk of a date,

Where space goats meet us drunk at the gate

sipping thimbles full of wine’

eat

Coffee and cake,

take  – this blank canvas,

make it our page.

 

I like the invitation to write verse together;

as we pause with a finger

to our jaw in awe

of each other;

ooze over each other;

as we contemplate the deeper meanings of life

 

These animals debate our fate:

feed us from the bars of our cage;

Let’s fill it together with creative rage,

In that perfect way that you and me engage.

 

If only I could speak as fancy as I THINK

as fast as I THINK fancy thoughts!

 

“little thimbles;

wine, coffee and cake”

 

We could speak our minds on the spot –

be energetic and kinetic –

let it all linger.

Or do

1 shot, 2 shots 3 shots

four,

oblivion knocks at the door;

 

The torrid torment of societies fucked up illusions!

The faceless sheep scrambling for the pedal stool of confusions;

fuck this delusion

fucking loud mouth intrusion

you’re in no position to be

dissin’ me!

so  please be still and shit!

Sit and spit ill wit –  as we contemplate;

plausible fantasy based off our torrid reality;

 

won’t you sit and sip wine from a thimble

with me?

Eat cake and drink some tea?

As goats sit pretty and try to define,

our destiny.

 

©Ron Bergquist and Karen Hayward 2016

Brutality of profanity.

How many times can i swear in a poem?

One fucker, two fuckers, three fuckers, four.

Let’s grab a dictionary and search some more.

But my poem has to read right, it has to have a flow,

I don’t want people thinking what a bloody asshole!

I need to shape the form and add a little theme…cream?

No rhyme for that it would seem!

I want to say the c word, I want to scream it loud

but some would say, now Karen it ain’t word to shout proud!

So bitch fuck it is then, and bloody stupid dick

and please let’s not forget those stupid little pricks!

I’m running short on profanity oh boy this my reality

I live a life with out expression and is a brutality!