A Poem by Chica P.

A free-verse poem I wrote on an impulse. This is the first poem that I have ever written without proceeding to promptly throw it in the trash upon completion. :)


Heya, sweetheart--


I think jealous looks good on you

Maybe we could tap our weary feet

On the stained-glass floor

While our minds swim at mach five

Through the marshmallow hatred

Of our bretheren


Do we have to be immortal?

If we sing to the clouds, then

Maybe, just maybe,

They’ll give us the manna

We so long for--in sleep, in thought, in rage--

Sleeping harshly on the sharp pillows

Of soft nails


How do we breathe?

It’s simple, hon, because anguish

is only a state of mind

We’ll paint the sun blue to escape

And then float away

Into the empty,

Drawing horizontal lines

on our imaginations

Until we decay into

The vertigo somnambulism

Of complacency.

© 2010 Chica P.

Author's Note

Chica P.
Yeah, yeah, it's weird. I know. And Walt Whitman, father of free-verse, is probably rolling over in his grave right now at this travesty I am publishing.
Oh well.

My Review

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I think it is well thought out and has a certain distorted beauty to it. I liked the angel theme. I love the last line until we decay into the vertigo somnambulism of complacency. Deep.

Posted 4 Years Ago

Its simply wonderful. You are gifted.

Posted 6 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on June 18, 2010
Last Updated on June 24, 2010
Tags: surreal, psychological, free-verse, happy, hatred, dream


Chica P.
Chica P.


I don't like to think I can be summed up in one paragraph. Get to know me. more..