To Miss Foxy Roxy

To Miss Foxy Roxy:

Oh Why, Oh why,
Did you turn so badly

Turn so badly
In my Belly

Turned my Throat
To Acid Jelly

Left me Purging
In Back Alleys

Signed,
Your faithful lover, Dirty Dan's sole survivor, Doting Don



And be sure to stay tuned for the upcoming "Doting Don's Dosing Dosier"

Miss Foxy Roxy

Miss Foxy Roxy
Bumpin all night
She’ll shoot you dead
Before she does you right

She comes on creeping
Makes you ill
She’s no candy coated
Sugar Pill

Miss Foxy Roxy
Addictive as hell
She’ll take all your money
And leave you a shell

With her Orange cap
And spoon in hand
She’ll tie you tighter
Than any rubber band can

Miss Foxy Roxy
Says, “come to bed”
Be careful, though, Boy
She’ll fuck you dead

Dirty Dan’s Decadent Demise

Low Down
Dirty Dan
Looks for Jobs
But none are Found
Without Work
No Money Perks
So Dirty Dan does his worse

Disapproved of
Dirty Dan
Cut his White Girl Down
Cooked her in Ceramic Pans
Watched as the Microwave
Turned her ‘Round

Devilish Dick
This Dirty Dan
Went from Soft to Hard
Kept this Girl in his Hand
And walked her to his car

But Dirty Dan
Soon found out
This Girl he did adore
Would not ever be enough
He’d always want some more

Disenchanted
Dirty Dan
Trying to make it Last
Went in too Deep
Then fell Asleep
She was Much
Too Much
For any Man




This is the first poem I have written so far for my "Lindsay's (Future) Book of Adult Nursery Rhymes."

See Cat Crocodile Smile

Cat Cortez, mountain climber extraordinaire
Wants you following examples
Says commercial TV
Midnight infomercials
Colored TVs
Agree
Nice girls need candy coated cabinetry
Matching cookware
George Foreman Grilles
Little blue pills
No-stick pans
Honey baked hams
See Cat care
Mountain climber extraordinaire
Every night
Midnight
On KATC


I wrote this early in the Fall 2008 semester for my Grammer class. The directions were to write either a poem or a paragraph leaving out the specified parts of speech. I made a 'D' in the class and recieved no credit for this assignment but I like the poem.

Contained Schizophrenia

My urine is bright orange
Due to the pills they made me swallow
Thankfully I’m not shallow
And those paranoid thoughts my mind adores
Though I swallow the pills they still come more
And that misplacing of my things….it seems
I blacked out and did myself
No need to make a scene
And though they medicate my three times a day
And the pills they prescribe calm me down and sedate
I still constantly debate
Should I kill myself now. . . if. . . if… this is my fate.



Another old poem written around the same time as "Marilyn" and "Monster Ego."

At this point, I feel I must mention--about a month before my enrollment in my first creative writing class I was released from Tyler Mental Health Acute Psychiatric Unit. Not my first time being committed and definitely not my last, I'll just admit that now. Though, I doubt there was any confusion in the reader's mind.

Marilyn

I am a kaleidoscope of interest In my multicolored universe I am a temptress
And though my activities can be described as outrageous You’ll all claim you know me When I’m rich and famous And I’ll probably die Of suicide As many legends do And I’ll be remembered as a good girl For the truth dies with me too.


This is another one of my old poems. Orginally, this poem had line breaks where the capitalized words are. I have been into this run-on sentence formatting for my poetry lately and a couple of months ago changed it to what you see now.

Monster Ego

Slighted light beams shine against the hard plastic of the visible glass looking
Optic sunflower seeds
Ghost sheets and Dirty cots
And the cushioned walls have become gray, lethargic; inner and outer rott.



I wrote this poem a few years ago for my first creative writing class at the South Louisiana Community College for Dr. Gaither. I was probably seventeen. Any poems that I label 'old' were most likely written around this time, including "Marilyn."

I would like to thank Dr. Gaither now--even though he'll probably never know it--he is one of the main reasons I decided to continue on in the Creative Writing program at UL.

--Lindsay

Decreement Agreement

My Baby
Habibi

Is Leaving

Me
Never

Shall be

To be
Seen
Dare He
Think
To do
A Thing
Think I

To not

Do Agree
Be so

Mean
Beg Him
Please
Never be

Not
Leaving
Me

Vice Box

Buried Box Bright Red
Resting
Underneath
My soggy
Sweat-Filled
Bed Keeping
Me
Residually
Residing
In My
Head
Death Bed
Dead White
Faded Lines
Stain its Lid
And
Yet Again
I Find Myself
Ill-equip
To Handle
It So
I give
In Yet
Again
I give in.

Foe Squirral Faux

Beatty Eyed Little Beasts
Constantly
Watching Me
Observing Things
No one Sees
These
Squirrals in the Trees

Dispense me Diseased

I am Drought Fever
Skankified Release
A growing epidemic
That needs to be policed
See me Diseased
Pink Pez dispenser
Dispensing Relief
See me Relieved
Pink Pez dispenser
Conceding defeat
Be me Deceived
Pink Pez dispenser
Pending Release
And if I came back
Then what of that
Rusted veins
Side strike hunger pains
Three day old cotton fever
In need of pain reliever
All still remain

My insightful interpretation of "The Boy who Cried Wolf"

This is my interpretation of a classic child's tale. I wrote this for a class but had so much fun writing it that I decided to post it.

“The Boy Who Cried Wolf” another fable by Aesop discourages lying. The fable tells of a young boy who amuses himself by running up to the village stables and fooling the town people into thinking a wolf has eaten their flock of sheep. The first time he is bored watching the village sheep trounce around the hillside so he decides to spice up his life. He screams “Wolf! Wolf! The Wolf is chasing the sheep.” All the village people come running to see what the fuss is about when the boy laughingly reveals to them that there is, indeed, no wolf. The villagers tell him “Don’t cry wolf, shepherd boy, when there is no wolf.” Sometime after the boy cries out the same thing, the ignorant villagers unaware of the boy’s deceitful ways come running up the hill in order to help the young man out of a dangerous situation. To their dismay when they arrive they discover the boy has pulled the same old shit. The villagers tell him, this second time, “Save your frightened song for when there is really something wrong! Don’t cry wolf when there is NO wolf!” The boy is cruel, possibly a future sociopath, and is very possibly committing the various biblical crimes of bestiality (why does he prefer the sheep’s company to the company of his peers?) and laughs once more at these foolish, angry, villagers. Later the boy, doing whatever it is he does out there, is again watching the sheep that tempt his virgin but not so innocent mind. This time his spying allows the sighting of a real wolf. It appears to the boy that the wolf is attempting to break into the stables and eat the villager’s sheep. Once again the reader could dig deeper into the psyche of the wolf and most definitely see the wolf has an ulterior motive also. One could read deeper into the symbolism of a wolf eating a sheep (but due to self preservation one will not). This third and final time, though, the villagers do not come running to the boy’s calls. In a more modern fable the boy probably had this all planned out, as we all know adolescents can be cruel and especially deceitful. The boy probably had predicted the eventual reactions of his fellow villagers. This premonition of his brought him to the accurate conclusion that once the villagers decided nothing eventful was occurring in the sheep stables they would no longer make visits to it and he would finally be free to act out his unnatural but very natural feeling love. Aesop, though, seemingly chooses a different path for his tale to take. Instead of finding the boy in a compromising position that if discovered only moments earlier the boy, I’m sure, would have been (I am convinced at this point) they find him weeping. Once again the reader could dig deeper and say that the boy is crying out of guilt over what he has just done to one of God’s most lovely of creatures (but out of self preservation, once again, one will not). When the boy does not come back to the village with the sheep the villagers return to the stables. They find him distraught and crying out “There really was a wolf here! The flock has scattered! I cried out, ‘Wolf!’ Why didn’t you come?” For some reason an old man is particularly interested in the boy and comforts him on the way back to the village. The last line in the fable is the old man responding to the young man’s distress calls “We’ll help you look for the lost sheep in the morning, nobody believes a liar…even when he is telling the truth!” he tells the boy as he puts his arm around him.

Poetry Exercises

These are two poetry exercises I wrote for Skip Fox's poetry class.

Yellow Fingertips
Level Lithium Level poke poke poke Fat abscess to tell the world of your pastime poke poke poke bruises in the creases of your elbow-the lump in your forearm-the fingertip spots on the tops of your feets (got a little desperate with that one didn’t we)—all told your mother of your proclivities--
Now– she doesn’t love you anymore—all because you took the wrong medication.

Small Black Heart
Oh, oh, oh, my little black broken heart. Has faded. Only the outline remains, of course. Just an almost complete heart. Almost on my finger, it rests on its way….making its way….making its way. Someday only the etch and sketch remains will stare at me and regret….and regret. Oh, you, aren’t you glad his name is not branded on your ass like you’d always begged him to. Lovers. You on my hand. I did it on purpose. When I did it. I did it on purpose. You represent me in your music note. Purple and Blue. Purple and Blue. But my heart is black, I want it to stay black. It fades to gray as the days…..as the days. I always told you I’d rather be black and white than gray anyday. You won’t have me now. I can’t keep enough salt in my already thick veins to please you. You claim you’ll fix it….in a week…a week…but I’d rather cut my hands off than look another day at your little black broken heart plastered almost on my fingertip.