Party Girls Don’t Get Hurt

February 25, 2015February 25, 2015Tamara Woods 1 Comment

I’m the party girl, the smarty girl, that arty girl

That rock and roll child, toured with Nirvana

Born to be wild, dressed up in style

Party with rock stars, cool kids, out laws, in the raw

I’m the cool girl, the hot girl, the “it” girl, human tilt-a-whirl

The popular girl, wild child, live on the edge, crouched on a ledge

The sexy girl, men want to screw

Super talented chick, don’t you wish it were you?

♫ One two three drink

one two three drink

throw ‘em back till I lose count ♫

Envy me, copy me, fall for me; worship me

Beg for me, plead for me

If they want me they bleed for me

I’m the girl who takes all the chances, who dies everyday,

is reborn every moment, I’ll lead you astray

Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you my life

your envy so thick it could cut with a knife

White hot

Independent

Drinks are for free.

My options got options, don’t you wish you were me?

Dressed to wicked perfection in Jimmy Choo boots

Black leather and buckles in three different heights

Bold and

brassy

Inappropriate

Carefree

Druggy misadventures with Beasties and Flea

The Limelight

The Tunnel

The Mercer Hotel,

Partied in Vegas

New Orleans

Nashville was hell

♫ I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier

I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t exist ♫

I’m the girl who’s shaking now, what have I done, what have I done?

I’m the girl who’s sobbing now, gotta unplug,

Hair matted down on one side

“just get home” on repeat

All those friends were not real they were props on my stage,

painted in the shattered strobe light now they all fade

Stop judging me, hating me, coveting my life

The years slipped through my fingers, a fool’s paradise

She’s the makeup smeared girl in a bathroom stall

vomiting out daddy issues against the back wall

Cutting white lines on the closed toilet seat

without smack in her veins she feels incomplete

Dance with me, sing with me, you’ll present like a king with me,

steal with me, deal with me; you won’t ever heal with me

The party girl’s wrapped in layers of numb

anesthetized to the hilt with cocaine and rum

Escaping at dawn from a loft I don’t know

How did I end up downtown? Did all of us go?

Remember that time she was sectioned in Queens?

She thought it was Manhattan or some kind of dream

A cop picked up her up for not knowing her way,

or where she was, who she was, or even what day.

Commited for 3 days for being insane –

a half ounce of coke does that to a brain

The hot MILF, the cool mom,

loses custody of her kid.

So cop a little more scag,

drop off the grid

Hot-bodied flame-haired

girl from the hood

She’s homeless in 6 months

But damn she looks good

♫ But I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down won’t open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light, ‘cos I’m just holding on for tonight ♫

Ready to fuck like a porn star, wanna have a good time?

send me your email I’ll fuck you online

Check your respect at the door cause you’re here to screw

and fuck my best friend, don’t mind if you do

Play with me, stray with me, put yourself on display with me

Stay with me, stay with me, I can’t bear another day of me

Play with me

Stay with me

Please

I can’t be alone I can’t seem to breathe

Post- party heart- crushing comedown at dawn

when the drugs are used up everybody is gone

Play with me

pray for me

Play with me

pray for me

The life of the party, she quietly seeks death

You’ve helped her this far – why not steal her last breath?

Play with me

Pray for me

Play with me

Pray for me

pray for me

Samara is the no-holds-barred, five times Freshly Pressed blogger at A Buick in the Land of Lexus. She mixes honesty with humor in high definition, first-person story telling. Samara is also a founding member of The Sister Wives blog. She lives in New Jersey with her son Little Dude, the coolest 11-year-old kid on the planet.

Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.

The Writer in My Head

February 4, 2015December 10, 2014Tamara Woods Leave a comment

The writer in my head has a name
But it is not mine
The person I saw buried six feet under
Lives behind my soulful eyes
In my blood I feel him
As I write the words that he has given me
I feel my feet hit the ground
But its to his kind beat
He is a leaf cascading to the ground
as I watch it with the eyes he gave me
He is the thought in my head
As I write down these words
And sing his mournful song

I like to keep my blog anonymous, as there is personal luggage on it that shouldn’t have a name attached to it. I write mostly about what I see and what inspires me. I believe that simplicity has more complexity than people may realize. My poems aim to extract the complexity and show the beauty in the rubble. The poem I submitted is about the person who inspired me and who continues to posthumously. You can find more of WordsAreDeadly’s work on their blog, here.

Photo credit: xmansonettex on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

I Am My Mother’s Daughter

January 28, 2015December 7, 2014Tamara Woods 2 Comments

I am my mother’s daughter
I save glass jars from peppers and peaches
To use throughout the house for holding things
Like buttons, seeds, and leftovers.

I stay up late after the house is quiet
Finishing projects in sewing and words
Away from the darling needy children
And alone with the depths of my thoughts.

When I want to learn something
I read books about astronomy and birds
I know the knowledge will not help me at work
Or at home, but I want to know anyway.

I am my mother’s daughter because
I know there is no harm in knowing about
The world away from my own
Even if I never see it.

Elizabeth N. Love is a resident of Kansas, where the blue sky meets a flat horizon. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from the University of Kansas and writes science fiction as well as poetry. When not writing, she is found chauffeuring two children to activities, cooking homemade meals, and practicing creativity in music, drawing, and needlework. You can learn more about her on her blog, here.

Photo credit: noach-b on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

Beautiful, Brazen, Bold

January 21, 2015December 10, 2014Tamara Woods Leave a comment

Let us gather those purple passion orbs
(The vineyard is ripe and ready)
We’ll weave the vines and crown ourselves
The leaflets to cover our glory

Let us drench ourselves in precious oils
That our bodies glisten and shine
It is unto Bacchus
We give thanks for the laden vine

As the ancients of classical Greece
Whose myths never grow old
We’ll dance beneath the harvest moon
Beautiful, brazen, bold:

Intoxicated on life are we
Free from all restraints
Living less complexities
Void of any complaints

O’Prunty lives is a small town amongst the rolling hills of West Virginia, USA. Her works have been published by Middle Island Press, with two chapbooks, “Selected Snippets” and “Unfolding Hearts” her credit. Her poem “A Fleeting Moment” appear as in an Anthology of Poetry: “Sketches of the Soul”.She has also been published in a variety of ezines, newspapers and collaborations.

Writing poetry since the tender age of ten, weaving of words has always been her true passion. In the words of the poetess, “life has been my greatest teacher, experience is now my guide”. You can find O’Prunty’s blog here.

Photo credit: Marcello-Paoli on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

War Stories

January 14, 2015December 7, 2014Tamara Woods 1 Comment

When he talked about it
Out of the blue
I listened carefully to his words

The war was decades old
In his mind
And he had stories to tell

Missiles slipped off incoming planes
Scraping across the deck
He leapt out of the way

He cleaned up the messes
Left behind
When the hull was struck

A man walked into a propeller blade
On purpose
He cleaned the deck of blood

He only spoke of it one time
To me
Only one time

Photo credit: SkyDreammer on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

Tumbling

January 7, 2015December 10, 2014Tamara Woods 2 Comments

Words, thoughts, ideas
Scrolling
Chasing
Sparrows between nests
Scruffy
Dust bathers
Noisely demanding notice

Touching the fringes
Of my consciousness

Sounds, sentiments, chords
Pitch
Perfect
Robin round rubicund
Trilling
Reverberating
Challenging the garden

Echoes, ringing
Auditory shadows remembered

Scents, perfumes, motes
Lullaby
Tumbling
King Blackbird
Cadences
Flouncing
Encircling the meadows with melody

Summer
Missing
You

I live, work, play and create from my home in South-West England.
My (very) recent return to writing poetry has been a shock. I knew that I had a lot to say, but not quite as much. I love the spontaneous pieces (most of my poems) and the sense of achievement when I receive a response, and that I have an audience from across the World (thank-you, everyone). My inspirations? The beautiful countryside and coast of North Devon and North Cornwall, my family, the weather: hence my blog title: The Lull After…You can find Shilyot’s blog and more of her awesome poetry, here.

Victim of a Fading Sun

December 31, 2014December 3, 2014Tamara Woods Leave a comment

Two meet as one under the mountain’s roaring cascade.
The lights of civilization are passing peripheral glances.
It’s not quiet but it’s a peaceful not quiet.

He’s holding her like Pan if he ever could put his hands on a nymph.
She to him like a speechless echo.
Each given Chronos’ gift of temporal paralysis.

She’s giving her history with her fingers running across his shoulders.
He’s telling his tale the same way caressing her hips and back.
Not a word spoken, misspoken, or misunderstood.

Time’s gift is a loan and the two depart for separate moments.
Their fate a possible victim of a fading sun.
But their heartbeats leave the moment as it is: untouched and unforgettable.

Photo credit: Lucky978 on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord