On low and slow, cooked all day

the deliciousness of the perfect rub

that juicy brisket runs over my tongue to play

For it there is simply no sub....

Then again, chips and queso

oh Lordy, there's the Enchilada

can't leave out the jalapeno topped nacho

Without TexMex life would be nada

Cream gravy on top of a Chicken Fried Steak

Not to boast

mashed potatoes covered with a cream gravy lake ....

and that delicious Texas toast

Nothing wrong with my taste that is for sure.

A two-margarita limit sometimes I should have quit at the first of a half glass

who I am is a simple tour

Liquid gold or not I am a little bold, sassy and ditzy but not afraid to land on my ass.

I appreciate life and all the things that have made and continue to make me, me

Friends, work, laughter, trying to be kind and just happy to live

So whether my days or juicy or spicy

I'm happy to be a Texas native.

Y'all I embrace it all...every single minute I am blessed to have.

Some may ruminate

we are Devil's food

or molten lava

cake

something

sickly sticky

at the most glorious

red white set

checked picnic

on high

but it's unlikely

along this trail

we are more

a beef jerky

half-cured

yanked

around

masticated

dry

in the mouth

then swallowed

hard

tasteless

after awhile

sitting

something

heavy

in the bowels

2024 FEB 25

Augmented

B5

Chords

Deny

Entities

From

Going

Heavenly

Into

Jehovah's

Keeping.

.

Languishing

Music,

Nuanced

Otherwordly,

Powerfully

Queer

Resonance,

Sounds

Tritonic

Under

Wiccan's

Xenial

Yearnings —

Zounds!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: B and F form a tritone in the key of C major, a triad from the root B, a major third (D#) and a perfect fifth (F#). It need not be from B, but can be constructed from several notes — for example, by widening a perfect fourth and narrowing a perfect fifth by one chromatic semitone.

I am not a musician, so some may want to weigh in on the above definition if I need correction. However, because of the tritone's natural discordant sound (as heard by the human ears), it is often used as a menacing warning in horror movies or a change to the ominous in music. It is called the "Devil's chord," or diabolus in musica, because of its dissonance. It is rumored that it may have even been banned by the Catholic Church in liturgical music in Medieval times, but this is apocryphal.

The word, "Zounds!" is a contraction of "God's Wounds" (the stigmata of Christ on the cross) and, as such, is used as a swear or oath of indignation or surprise.

Hi all!

I don’t know how to tag names.

I just wanted to send a very sincere thanks, with hulking heaps of gratitude to all who have taken the time to read my poems, whether you commented, liked them or didn’t.

Just knowing some fellow poets read them really blessed me.

I want to thank Prose and their incredible team for their literary platform, as it has opened me up to some truly daring, cutting edge and inspiring poets. I was also speechless that “Beguiling Eye” was chosen and read on your channel! I shared that with my family and friends like a kid at Christmas.

I’ve completed my first book, 50 poems chosen out of 80, and it’s being professionally formatted by an author friend.

I have zero idea on the next step thereafter:

Self publish or shop it to UK Publishers? (Comments are welcomed on this one ☺️)

Either way, I believe in it, am blessed and grateful that the good Lord gave me the desire and ability to express my heart through words.

If you happen to read this, I encourage you to realize that Prose has offered a home to us; a literary dorm, think tank, social club or the equivalent of hanging with good people, enjoying what’s on our minds and hearts, where no one is too weird or too normal, but everyone can come as they are.

No stuffy pretension, just a wonderfully raw place that has afforded me the kind luxury of excitedly sharing my poems, and the thrill of discovering brilliant poets that inspire me (and I can’t tag, as I don’t know how, but you all are terrific.)

Prose and the community has been a profoundly wonderful find for me, and has encouraged me to move forward in my book, and believing more in myself.

OK, my morning cup of coffee is wanting to prattle me on, but anyhow, a huge thanks.

Be well, be blessed, be happy and never give up.

LDW

xx

In this photograph you are smiling, and you are happy. In this photograph we are still friends, we still laughed, we still loved, and we still thought it was going to last forever.

I thought it would last forever.

In this photograph you were still by my side. You still talked to me, you still comforted me, and laughed with me. I thought it would last forever, with you by my side, both of us in college together. No one could ever separate us; we were one and the same. You were mine and I was yours. We were best friends. You were my best friend.

In this photograph you smile at me, even though you are sick, telling me it will all be okay. You were right, as you always were. In this photograph you include me, telling me it will all be over soon, the dance I was forced to attend. In this photograph you tell me it will be okay. And you were always right.

What this photograph doesn't show me are the cracks that had been clawing their way into the glass of our friendship, trying its hardest to break us apart. I had never even noticed. What this photograph doesn't show me is how everything would fall apart, how you would grow to hate me, how our friendship would end in a single day. It doesn't tell me how you blamed me for everything, or how I would never see you again, or how you would never speak to me again. It doesn't tell me how much I know you hate me. It doesn't show me all the pain I was going to go through, blaming myself, hating myself, wondering what I did wrong, and why it had to happen. It doesn't tell me that I would cry every night wishing you would come back, it doesn't tell me how I would soon forget the way you spoke, the way you looked, and the way you laughed and smiled.

It never showed me all the pain we would both soon go through. It didn't tell me what you were truly feeling, what you were going to go through after. It didn't show me how I would scramble through all of my memories of us trying to figure out what I did wrong, or how I could've fixed it, or when our friendship had started to break. It never told me that I would not be okay even months after.

I can't bring myself to delete your number, to throw away your pictures, to block you, to hate you. I can't. I have always loved you; I will always care for you. I treasure the pictures I have of you, because I never want to forget you and I hope to see you again someday. I hope that you will forgive me as I have forgiven you, and I want you to know that I don't care what happened in the past as long as you are happier now.

I hit my peak. I hit my peak of trauma and pain. My mind was overflowing with thought, while my sadness was eating away at my heart. I was fighting the feelings of grief, an overwhelming amount of grief. Between 2018 and 2020 I lost my father-in-law to suicide, my best friend since childhood to addiction, my grandmother to sickness and my mother to an accidental overdose. Death is hard enough to deal with, but when you consider the reason behind a person’s death, certain reasons will make grief even more complicated.

I was suffering to say the least. I had so much that I needed to put into words, but talking wasn’t enough. To me, talking was the equivalent to water dripping from a faucet. I was able to get some thoughts and words out little by little. However, it wasn’t enough! I needed those thoughts and words to come out the way water uncontrollably flows over a waterfall. I was drowning because I couldn’t express myself. I needed a little direction, in order to get those words from my mind, to my fingers. My thoughts were everywhere and I didn’t know where to start.

Accidentally I came across Prose on Google.com. I was struggling to sleep and I needed an outlet. I needed a prompt. I needed to write. Searching the internet for prompts at three o’ clock in the morning, I came across this website and eagerly I created an account. I read through such beautiful pieces, some filled with pain that I understood. Quickly I knew that I was in the right place.

After reading such honest works amongst fictional posts, I felt safe and I opened up the floodgates. I scanned the challenges and found one I loved. For the first time in a long time, these writers who have no idea who I am nor do I know who they are, made me feel like I belonged.

It’s almost one year since I found this community, my community. Within this time on Prose, my mind isn’t drowning and I began to reconstruct my heart. Writing truly heals and having the opportunity to be apart of prose, has saved me in more ways than one. A community of writers is a special group of people. To truly understand the depth of healing we provide for each other, is something I wish everyone could experience. Prose is a place where my sadness wanders and my anxiety disappears, allowing love and peace to take the forefront. It’s a place where my mind and my heart pulls my authentic self out, so proudly.

My life is changing now and then,

My day is lovely every moment.

I see the clouds and bright sky,

I see the sun and heavens rain.

Come with me see the rainbow now,

Is it going to pour snow now

Welcome to the bizarre bazaar of my mind

like an orange it doesn't rind

undiagnosed self-dosed

unfiltered it flitters

finishing a thought or not

faulty memory/wiring

less a stream of consciousness, more a

steam of no consequence

envelopes me like a fog

I try to grab some drops

but it just makes my brain fingers slippery

a platypus swims across

everything tastes like chicken except for eggs

six in one and something about your mother

does anyone else ever feel like their computer head

is just hanging there on the blue screen

or is constantly rebooting? the same four notes

playing over and over and over

into the spiral of infinity that is never far from

my trains of thought, as they travel this way and that

on their mobius strip tracks, turning inside out and

upside down but always returning to the same spot

like a roomba (was that supposed to be capitalized?)

I think, it's hard to let go of the idea of perfection

even when I'm trying to show the chaos of my mind

ugh, the silhouette of my poem got super blocky

time for some

short lines to add

interest

that's better

anyway, where was I? which train was traveling the fastest?

oh no a drawbridge, will it raise in time

or will we crash through into the castle of my mind?

crash

quiet

it's oddly quiet in here, the trains are gone

the birds have all flown down under

I wonder why anyone would want to read

this disorganized mess it's not even hot

a tepid squirming mass of ew

I'm not even going to finish that

Whatever, if you made it this far you deserve a present

here's a peasant, how pleasant

he's wearing a pheasant

*snickerdoodle

gotta remember to drink water today

I can see why people don't like this style

who wants to stare into the face of insanity

or is that just humanity

hey writer Bunny

we're all mad hare