Karaoke Blues – Nicole Lyons

I don’t think you want to know me

like you say you do

I don’t think you want to know how

my hips ache with the weight

of women crumbling

under angry men

and bridges painted whiter

than any Holy Spirit

asked them to be

I walk with the stumbling grace

of a wounded soul stretched

and ready to burst

against the aftershocks

I have placed in my pockets

 

I don’t think you want to know me

I think you want to duck and jive

and convince the women

in my pockets to sidle up

under neon lights and press

their hips against smudged rails

while they powder their noses

and sit pretty until they are asked

to dance or you get five fingers in

and begin telling the story about the time

you watched your mother burn.

You will never find salvation here,

but I like the way you keep coming back

with your fists full and asking forgiveness

knocking on honey-coloured jungle wood

toes sealed tight inside crocodile tears

still wet, and tap-tap tapping slow

to a beat that hums in karaoke blues

 

Nicole Lyons is a force of nature disguised as a writer, a social activist, a voice for the downtrodden, and a powerful poet with a delicate touch. She is a best selling published author, poet, and also a consulting editor for Sudden Denouement.

 

Georgia Park (pictured) also writes poetry and consults for Sudden Denouement in addition to being extremely good looking.

Author: Private Bad Thoughts

Georgia Park is a poet and she loves you very, very, very much.

25 thoughts on “Karaoke Blues – Nicole Lyons”

  1. What you said in your poetry, it shows your background reflection and still, I will say nothing I want to keep a difference between us, your following lines simply left nothing even to look at each other.

    you watched your mother burn.
    You will never find salvation here,
    but I like the way you keep coming back
    with your fists full and asking forgiveness
    knocking on honey-coloured jungle wood
    toes sealed tight inside crocodile tears
    still wet, and tap-tap-tapping slow
    to a beat that hums in karaoke blues

    You are not allowed to read my poetry
    And if you do it anyways
    You are a creep

    I will never read your poetry anymore all those folders will be burned in the morning.

    Like

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