No Show-Renga Poem
I sat under the full tree
waiting for you to show.
Sunny, windy, dust—no show
Autumn leaves fall on my head,
like my heart in my stomach.
Then the crunch of leaves,
hope rushes through my branches
and a squirrel runs past.
To share a cracker with his mate.
He dare not keep her waiting.
And I wonder with envy at these squirrels.
Animals with little knowledge.
But loyal until their last breath.
Satire Poem
You tell me to dress like a lady, stand tall, and look strong.
Light steps when you walk and walk like you own it.
This make-up makes you look flawless. Concealer to conceal what?
Men want real women, not those who have been nipped and tucked.
Well real women have blemishes, scars and rolls.
They sit with their legs open. They dress down at home.
Real women aren’t always ladies, but often painted to perfection.
All women don’t consider men a weapon of protection.
We’re pressured into painted toes and gel nails.
Perms, weaves, and the latest fashion deals.
For if he really knew, he’d understand you.
We say men don’t listen, they don’t know our truth.
Well how could they, when you’re being everyone else but you.
Choosing what the internet says is in.
Knowing that those heels will damage you.
But for the love of love, women do what we have to.
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