Tuesday, May 1, 2012


Creation minds the fort like a seasoned bitch
Watching your impish moves like a fat security guard
Who hates your guts and waits patiently in the shadows
For you to step lively out of line, he screams the rules

Back to your place, wannabe
Show me your face, wannabe
It shines it's light cruelly
On your festering weakness

Creation sits on your head like a fifteen year old brother
Suffocating your lines, the ones you scratched in blood
Your ode to a long lost love, the one that will bring down the house
Sits awkwardly in the public eye, withering from lack of interest

This is the case, wannabe
You lost the race, wannabe
It snickers behind the back
Your confidence hopelessly grounded

Creation has to be manhandled like grandmas hope chest
Lugged up three flights of stairs and perfectly placed
Holding the secrets that you will let fly on your time
Spanked thoroughly with an open hand, sexy, rose colored hand prints

This is your space, wannabe
Pick up the pace, wannabe
You win the staring contest
When creation can't keep up with you

© 2011 Crowley


  1. This is one helluva poem. I had to laugh at the sitting on your head like a brother... and staring contest is great.

  2. I read this earlier and thought you did a great job with the concept of creation...internal and external circles/ realities is a good format. I specially like your first stanza ~

  3. Cool poem ...one that needs read and re read ...loved it on first reading thank you for sharing x

  4. A clever twist around what creation can bring about. Great write!


  5. Very insightful and dramatic. Creation really is a full contact sport, or so it feels while it is going on. Nice job.
    Steve K.

  6. Creation goes from soul/mind, and ego will make sure you're in comfort zone. This is your first two stanzas. Love your last stanza about connection with 'grandma hope chest', 'with open hand' ( I read like with open heart), and yes it has to be sexy. Empowering poem. Thanks for sharing.

  7. "...like a fat security guard
    Who hates your guts..."
    For some reason, that made me laugh. I'd probably be terrified if such a person hated me, but coming from you, it made me smile. Go figger.

  8. Thanks for turning the anxiety of influence into a spanking contest, a sexually charged confrontation where the edge between victory and defeat (again, again) is spinning in the air like a plug nickel tossed by fate. Bring it on.

  9. Each simile packs a punch. You have a way of using realism as a side dish to poetic thought and it always provides a little shock value to the stanzas. ("Oh my, didn't see that one coming!")

  10. Though a couple of images read to me like the narrator must wear a wife-beater T-shirt, I adored the overall struggle with creativity you depict so truthfully, especially the parallel of seasoned bitch, security guard, and 15-year old brother.