You existed; lived simply to love me
At least that’s the way I thought
Until the ghost of you no longer see
Made bereft and left me overwrought

I thought I was all that mattered
Was your centre; your whole life
Your own hopes and dreams shattered
When you became my wife

You did your job. You kept me happy
Catered and bowed to all my needs
But me like a greedy puppy. Yappy
Selfishly caused your soul to bleed

The more you seemed to do and give
The more I grappled to take
The fact you had lost the will to live
My selfish brain no dent did make

I thought you were just bluffing
You couldn’t be so depressed
So lazily I carried on; did nothing
Broke you down in final test

They said they found your little car
Your licence cards, and keys
Angry engine humming. Doors ajar
At the docks down by the quays

Of you they said they found no trace
The currents there were stronger
You would wash up in some other place
They would find you. Just takes longer

Months have gone by but still no you
Has washed up. The police have said
The protocol. What they now must do
Is officially declare you dead!

She couldn’t handle it any more
Suicide; she took her own life
Her husband killed her to the core
Destroyed this doormat wife

So now I wallow in my guilt
Too little too late; now realising
The man she nurtured. Fed, and built
She killed herself despising

She has gone…….

In a cottage garden in Bordeaux
A lady sits smiling; quietly contented
Tragic suicide. Drowning. NO! All faux
Make escape her living hell tormented

She’s glad she saved that money
Stayed strong when life hit the buffers
Gorge on new life sweet as honey
While her hoggish husband suffers

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

The congenial and amusing essence of the grass fills my mind with freshness and newness             
I  lay on the cozy, cushy meadow as I look at the empyrean sky.
The stars shine just as bright as a happy smile that's seen very rarely in this hoggish and egoistic world.
I close my eyes and picture the rapturous sky.
My mind flushes the Stygian sky with colours. A little red from the right and a little blue from the left.
As soon as the colours collide the sky turns lilac.
I see myself struggling to get up to fly in that dazzling lilac sky as my legs are tied to the chains which are buried deep inside the earth where the Satan lives.
I cry as I feel the Satan pulling me down.
Just then I realized that holding on  to the unchangeable past serves no purpose and will never let me reveal the mysteries of tomorrow.

I exist in the corners of your lips,
Self-centered, You.
Possessive and hoggish, I.
Your lashes are conceived there, in the cracks.
Your thoughts are just as chapped.
Cheapened, perhaps.
I would still perish to kiss you.
Spill my tacit words into your mouth.
I could taste the restraints weeks ago.
They were loud and young and doltish.
We both sipped them anyway.
A sample of suffering,
For a marked down pact.
Now I am dirt under your fingernails.
Embarrassed by the rust of my tomorrows,
My maybes, my next weeks.
I never even saw your smile, though.
I bet it feels like corrosion.
Then theres you.
You that makes me infirm.
I am afraid of myself, but you arent.
I have grown accustomed to being macerated and **** out.
Your silence speaks in ******* volumes.
Chest sunk into spine.
Lungs inflated into ribs that refuse to budge.
Oxygen thicker than soup.
Throat tight like I wished your hands were around it.
Empty cups know more about my emotions
Than my eyes do.
Jet black strands of hair are assassins.
I was a center piece.
For your antique table.
And you disintegrated before you even finished
Watching me hemorrhage.
I would have loved ******* you.
But I would have loved the sound of you turning in our sheets
Even more.
Maybe I should drink some more, because I am not a p o e t.

Low-born, lowly,
lumbered, plebian
mushrooms, steal and
take, their final gasp.
 Before, a fastly approaching,
 Babylonian Avalanche. Where, lined up, thinly, ivoried-blue, are petulant
       pigs. That, usually; sniff out, lick, arr-
             est and lock up; black, brown and
               white truffles. The unguilty

              are apprehended. For false,
             treasonous reasons. So, who
            can blame the fungis, for wanting
       to seize, the cult of vulturous swines?
     By; the scruff of the system, and br-
   eak their snouts, until, their peccaried
      feathers are ruffled? The champignon,
     were; hewed and chewed, aplenty. By;

    hoggish, gnarled teeth, curled trotters
    and lavish appetites. But, those that  
   fell, to the Babylonian Avalanche, will,
  eventually, become a Mushroom Cloud.
 They'll float over, the 50, fuzzy, boarish
 corpses, to stellar, toadstool plateaus. When, their; final, pixie dust; they bite.

© poormansdreams

Colossal violence revels in the midst of hostility
Ingenius methods of hipocrisy roams our land
Dressed in superior clothings of mighty brands.

Nihilistic approaches for humanity's growth
Thats how things are done
As the blood red luminant shadows of the crescent moon strucked the heart of masochistic reapers of youthful innocence.

The bitterness of peace and joy did not satiate the evil's hoggish needs
So with their monstrous jaws and claws they haunted everything that screams life and hope
Until all of the land was left with little to no resemblance of what it was before
For now, the little town for which kids seek toys to play
And where adults find palpable joy in the simplicity of their humble abodes
Is now nothing but a mere reminder of how that ghost town was

Where the ugly stench of death and prejudicial entities of mankind lodges.

If this is all I wanted
I’m a hoggish hurricane
swallowing oceans, stars, your hopes
to continue feeding dreams

The breeze is fully baked and wild,
as Poseidon offers her hand
and whisks us over surf and strips
and maybe back to land

In the back, there’s a buckled atlas
where scribbles plot out plans
outside, honeyed dunes shoulder
the burdened placed by man

A pelican shares a tale
of the warbler’s latest slide
claims the last time it saw love
was in freedoms taffy tides

But if seconds count, we made the boat
with at least five something to spare
and as we wave to strangers lost
a tonic boom cups my ear

‘It’s hot as the stinkin’ mud!’ she hollers
as Helios doubles down
isn’t it just, but this is a must
for those from out of town

And as our ferry kisses Carolina
I sense I’m lost and free
so, if you find this in a bottle
please, don’t look for me