Friday, October 17, 2014

Mimi-Mona Poetry: escapee she terror


©escapee she terror

Mimi Wolske

fled the noise—escapee she;
shadows; some imbecile
to rubble; flee she
an escapee not; would society. think?
she needed get undetected.
she. Flee? alien think? she
drinks, Helmet appears informs he
backs the actress; Mona he
sleeps… Mona appears wanting, has
his coffee. Helmet appears door,
then wants returned. Mother.
come actress coffee. Mona to him
at every hour. he was monster
a drunken rage; terrorized she convinced,
a drunken haze; friends once now
convinced was and once her and
every marriage nightmare.

A Dada Poem

Monday, October 13, 2014

Mimi-Mona Poetry: No Alibi

©No Alibi
Mimi Wolske
Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™
October 2014
All Rights Reserved

It is never ending: it begins, it exists.
I have no alibi...I stole your heart
with lines written across your chest and
words drawn on your sated back...

It's the difference between being and been
you said this and I want to believe
that those who hurt us won't last
those who love us will

Love is like bindweeds
wrapping around itself
strengthening, burgeoning,
blossoming, existing, never ending

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Quid Pro Quo

©Quid Pro Quo
Mimi Wolske
Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™
October 2014
All Rights Reserved

Maybe I have law enforcement genes;
I can't walk passed a bakery
without drooling (read: buying) donuts.
There are red marks on my waist.
I've become the kink,
in the chain of sidewalk fashion
with their flowing dresses,
rolling briefcases, and
good posture and leanness.
My pants are too tight.
It's only ten pounds,
people say in soothing, melodic tones
while whispering behind my back
and laughing: Ohmygod! Twenty pounds! At least!
Skinny jeans and tight T-shirts come in packs;
don't judge me! I prefer my chocolate extra dark.
Bag of groceries splits from the weight;
brie and cream pies and sweet rolls spill;
I trip on the curb rushing to gather them up
as a handsome, expensive suit turns the corner,
turns into me. We both jump apart;
he with athletic ease and grace;
me like a shoved, dressed hog
precariously balanced on one foot.
I contaminate his expensive press job
with my bulging blue jeans
and my rumpled, oversized sweater.
He offers me a lethal smile;
I proffer him a sweet roll—
quid pro quo.