Madison Writes West

madison west

Madison has a brother named Jesus who knows well the sound of her voice,
she does not claim to have the all the answers but does her best to act kindly,
she is not intimidated by the many different beliefs and in fact does rejoice,
she respects those who question their faith instead of following them blindly,
ask your own questions, seek the answers and make your very own choice.

Her lily white ass can sell paper poetry at night on the South Side of Chicago,
she’s decided to see if her caucasian self can also get laughs sometime,
comedy in East St. Louis on a beautiful day she frees her mind of shadow,
it can feel painfully overwhelming and so beautiful all at the same time,
her imperfect life is better than bad because the big picture is her tableaux.

Her new girl crush at the gym can’t believe she’s almost forty five years of age,
if she ever switches sides she knows where to go to quench her first female thirst,
her just fine fine young trainer gets to get her worked into a damp sweaty rage,
yet she grows more spiritual and less religious as she becomes more immersed,
our Universe is an energy force and we are all part of the body that is our cage.

It’s hard for her sometimes to not write long, depressing and sad status updates,
she goes away reluctantly and comes back later when the dark mood abates,
she is often amazed that some dudes ever get to where someone else awaits,
because they’re constantly looking backwards at the booties that frustrates,
all that matters to her is that her nipples still point forward when she masturbates.

She can’t get enough of Dick in a Box while wishing she could become more undressed,
she couldn’t have imagined sitting down to write her first piece seven years ago,
now poetry isn’t a hobby at all to her and in fact it’s sentence to pain and survival at best,
she often wonders about the massive amounts of pain people are carrying below,
we’re just one big family however dysfunctional with poetry emanating from the West.

Natasha’s Strange Day


It’s been a strange day,
her heart hurts mercifully,
conform her in vain.

Natasha is a bright dark enigma coated in black lipstick,
searing flesh scars this mastered mind of instance,
metamorphosing this child flower-power goth chick,
only real screams can elevate her spirit to reminisce.

She doesn’t live life like most people eat their dinner,
she eats all the bland stuff she doesn’t like first,
saving the best stuff for last and chews like a winner,
if she gets full first and hasn’t quenched her thirst,
like life it’s sometimes best to swallow like a sinner.

Her humor can become dark, gray and stoically grotesque,
she gets amazing things done when sleep doesn’t call,
her personal interests are somewhat disgusting at best,
time slips like a hot chain and helps brace her fall,
her music can echo pain that’s unimaginable to the rest,
you’ll rewind & play a thousand times just to hear it all.

She chooses all art in the absence of an abstract happiness,
insomnia shows up and crawls into her bed like an affliction,
she’s even considering getting a brand new big tattoo gun,
with bright red little dark epiphanies of a new-like addiction,
her goal is to feel pleasure, punish, stimulate and be numb,
full contact music with dancing and nature are her salvation,
her entrails sometimes derail with a psychosomatic sickness.

She has for two household friends a cute pair of Orb spiders,
watching family feud with no sound is strange and very awesome,
listening to counting bodies and considering the outsiders,
because she questions the teacher gives extra work for everyone,
with very slow yoga sessions and medical care providers,
her technicolor hair and mixture morality can’t be undone.

It’s a crime to deny your natural and energized creative spark,
imagine the walls peeling back and bleeding out everything gory,
that pet was a gift and instead you choose to spread the dark,
like a ghost lady trying to play jingle-bells with your story,
a life without art is empty, meaningless and perpetually stark.

Closing bookstores and empty libraries rob her of a learning spree,
she buys dusty old poetry books at thrift stores for their looks,
their old fashioned smell and the imagining of how it came to be,
she now also reads digital versions of her free favorite books.

Every day at noon,
tsunami air raid warning,
draw fuckin bunny.

Shonna’s Coastered Hart

Shonna’s movin along with a discovered new mom,

living like butterflies without many regrets and a grin,

her life is like a path with no way to take the clear step,

riding flying red zebras flying into the sky with the wind.

These changes, lessons & mistakes have made her strong,

she’s in charge of her long life line along with her snuggle,

to compare without needs your journey would be wrong,

forgiving pasts along the way while not forgetting struggle.

Living for today and teach from all of the yesterday’s years,

knowing change happens in blinks of an eye from the start,

changeing how things have roller coastered through tears,

she means what she says with her longing Liverpool Hart .

Fuzzy Alexander

Audrey likes igloos and the Ocean as she shimmers
finds immediate beauty in cognitive dissonance
she remains utterly feral and gives us the shivers
under the midnight sun she will soon dance.

Her life is a grand enchantment of sere tales,
constellation watching on a hot Saturday night
thermogliding from the fuzzy alpine kittentails
favorite wildflowers end up in a peace pipe.

Researching knowledge and keeper of the scrolls
hums that make angels a less terrifying protector
perilous cliff-tops swaying above the dark souls
likely to be eaten by a spider named Alexander.

Blinded Wow Love


A blind woman with a blinded love
in a blind land wishing for a real man
one who will give her a life from above
the one who will hold her light and stand.

This secret wish is another secret worth telling
unhappiness is lost where hearts have to search
a hidden place from a sad heart that’s high flying
to the place where you can even follow and perch.

In what place will I not become a predator of my self
long-time since never checking in n’ write this once forgot
was surprised and amazed that someone reads from a shelf
join in the jumping because the happy joy mode is on the slot.

More amazed to read invitations that follow when we sneak on in
WWWWWWWOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW what a wonder to behold
four thumbs up 4 an average OOOPS then fall down and hahaha again
there is someone missing me or recently using my media to write and old.

She wants to be fair to both of them by meaning what she says with her ad
here she is ready to write and share her feelings with everyone once again
get set peeps and tighten yo seat belt coz Ninoy’s gonna make u mad
bunches of loves she has to offer us with lotsa fun and pretend sin.

She knows her real problems and she knows her unreal fears
it’s true but hold on tight and don’t you ever want to quit
she knows that her sorrows are lost in her wet tears
it’s true that she doesn’t know how to hard hit.

To tell you the simple truth without the loss
the Universe knows more than anybody
she comes to wipe it away like floss
doing it right and having it ready.

It’s done as soon as it can be
which no end to tomorrows
mourn the comfort too see
burdens and our sorrows.

Essensial Musical Breathe

Dedicated to making things with objects of statement
invoking fear instantly and nicer than expected
tall and soft dark bites makes things very blatant
wildly creative and a feisty crackpot unperfected.

Stay drama free and free from those who are fleeting
no manicures needed for breaking and diving
not treasure seeking or upwards eye gleeming
slowly starving on the brink of ultra-funning.

Music is the essential me as the air the we breathe
play from wake time till it’s time to fade to sleepy
stereos in the studios as the speakers sound weave
headphones everywhere in between all things pretty.

The necessary evil of a planned obsolescence
skinny art boys and poets hate sports too
suits optional when you’re full of reluctance
owning more of nothing appeals to not only you.