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.

Volatilizingly Dripping Moon

Frankie feels the impulse to howl like a coyote under the desert moon
spill into me your flavourful madness that begins with a long sip
the whole her is there with much to be discovered too soon
still truckin’ on this long and strange and blissful trip
your drama tastes like blueberry flavoured doom.

Overflow your cup to taste what you can’t see
your good karma has wet my lips for much more
the magnificent moon twice murdered the sun sunny
taste and die a dancing heart behind the dark black door
my dharmic eyes are elevated to see what you too could be.

Covered in good things lips slightly move when they almost sing
take what is given to you and lose a soul to once again save
put them in your pocket with no need for any unlocking
dancing in circles and squares to an aethersphere rave
dreamland will find you when you stop up looking.

Find the one who covers their eyes with the sun
intense roads to the kingdom have been solidly built
the theatre is overflowing and you have choices of none
drizzed in your sweetness i’ll devour you without much guilt
time to stop the show and reveal that your true voice is the one.

Red pens dipping in the mud being depicted only abstractively
writing songs with dripping blood and perfect admiration
volatilizingly this peace child’s compass spins insanely
live a life with the lack of bewitching compensation
how well do you want to be portrayed accurately?

Fallatiotic Red Vixen

Tiffany was a red headed nymphette seventy two inches tall
practising law by day and a fallatiotic dancing vixen by night
her hair was bright red all over and yes i mean bare and all
i never knew her very well but she blew me with mighty might.

She loved to blow me everywhere there was a chance of getting caught
spending more time with my thing in her mouth than actually talking
any partially private public space is what she constantly sought
trips with me at the wheel just so she could play while i was driving
alarmless elevators and bathroom stalls is what she found especially hot.

It was as if she had a deadly disease with little time left to find another cure
the only antidote that worked was my stuff administered daily as a face cream
this was a whirlwind sexual thing and once she was cured was gone forever
we never copulated but she loved my fingers while doing her favourite thing.

Looking back and remembering this little tryst, it’s always with a smile
although it has crossed my mind that the whole time i was being used
thinking of all the instances she would gulp and run after a short while
with the taste of a new seaman still on her lips that was recently spewed
was she secretly running to a mate to french kiss him or her with my bile?

She loved my taste so much that she always said ahhhhaaaa and thank you
sometimes pretending it was a paintbrush and her face a painting to be
every time i see a new fiery beauty the engram can’t help but renew
what she might look like with her red eyelashes glistening with me.

Rhonda’s Transistional Being

Rhonda just isn’t the same person you used to find
her license to be weird and cute will never expire
weak minds don’t matter and dark matter doesn’t mind
there through thick and thin for friends of desire
taking time alone to protect from those who are unkind.

Acceptance of loss has still yet to completely be heeded
spending time alone  sorting out a selective reflection
quiet for a time with sorrow is sometimes what is needed
losing a close soul as another reappears like convection
keeping things stabilised in the midst of being reseeded.

She’ll do anything nice for someone she trusts 100%
not actually gone but far enough away to remain strong
until you display something to doubt or reason to resent
realization and denial will not change to right from wrong
there is little room left for those who are into decent.

She has transmogrified into a better geemosapian being
laughter and loooooove of animals and Brandi too
bubbly wall postings with a funny and crazy thing
the past is in the past and without her so are you
ordering the chaos and determining who lets you sing.

Wading in solitude to keep things from slipping askew
avoiding silence because it brings a disquieting comfort
her attentive door is unlocked for a lucky intuitive few
zero motivation to seek  by herself someone to subvert
not reaching out or seeking superficial company like you.

Her bottom is on the line and finding something very fun
hermitizing from existence to absorb and process it all
making transitional choices on when and where to sun
undeserving feeling suckers always take the final fall
living her illustrious life like the swiss family Robinson.


Running Fire Water

Mara is da girl dat is soon gonna be very merry
a self-proclaimed dork who doesn’t play kid games
and doesn’t take crap from anyone ordinarily
a happy drama free life to her from me i proclaim
they nay say while i’ll love her till death you’ll see.

She’s going to school and doin’ it the right hard way
her trusted friends tell her she can be kind of a bitch
going to seek scholastic identity to do what she’ll say
getting maddened up she’s my favourite sexy goth witch
my unique ability to love is hers every night and day.

She’s like running fire and i’m like water flickering
sometimes she burns me up and others i dowse her out
when the mixtures are right we atomize something amazing
she a best friend and with me will never do without
there’s nothing normal bout how we’re relating.

Amy’s Extolling Polling

Amy’s garden of eden is full of love and respect,
she is searching for self awareness & identity,
a citizen of the world who is private and authentic,
full of stubborn fire and emanates colorful serenity.

Touched by life’s experiences and endless possibilities,
her paintings evoke a sense of poetic drama and sensuality,
short expressive stories carrying messages of love and dreams,
inspired by experience, people of mystique and self serenity.

Erasing borders and building bridges to reach beyond horizons,
citizens of the world unite around what she is naturally extolling,
a rebel with balls full of peace, understanding and positive vision,
keep the passionate faith and have a happy birthday Ms. Polling.

Elly Cox

Elly calls her computer names,
because she can’t fall asleep.
Probably waiting for Jeff Buckley,
to sing her off of her feet.

Her info is full of bright range,
I’m so very pleased to see that.
She thinks she is so very strange,
looks nothing like a big ding bat.

I think you should use “Peanut Brittle”,
then take yourself out of your box.
If I can give you one bit of advise,
don’t name your son Richard Cox.

Laurene Wyspianski

If Laurene doesn’t kill you,
you will finally see life.
She’s sometimes a bitch,
always loyal through strife.

Her friends say she’s crazy,
too nice and funny.
A flirty cute pushover,
when it comes to money.

She’s nowhere near selfish,
irresponsible just for fun.
A good patient listener,
too chatty to run.

Still looking for herself,
through the company of others.
Friendship, Dating, A Relationship,
shall I bring you three brothers?

With them sometimes,
I simply don’t agree.
Loving makes you alive,
what do you think Wyspianski?

Jl Davenport

On a sunny day she takes a stroll,

around the Run Away lake.

Yummy Yum dining on Floeme’s Pleasure,

something soft french bake.


She pre-emptivly walks once more around,

’cause First Time seconds are on the way.

She grasps hold of Emasculate powerful sound,

while begging the good kiss to go and stay.


She loves tranfixing others with her poetry,

while squeezing in Repulsive talking and sulking with rhyme.

Titillating senses that make your hormones run wild,

she can Tease her way through Crazy Love 10 cents at a time.



Poetry Addict

Regina is addicted to poetry and prose,
she perceives things that nobody knows.

Letting life happen always works for her,
she makes it worth something to endure.

Photos and quotes are left in her wake,
to look at her smile is to feel a quake.

Shadows are more than she thinks,
doors of perceptive minds sync.

More of a thinker than talker,
my new friend Ms. Walker.

Writers Block

If you really want to know her soul vile,
be brave enough to scratch the surface.
Tearz always know how to make her smile,
she could never mind your being debase.

Her sensitivities lay on the bed with a sigh,
she should know they are woeful like mine.
I can cheer up when life starts getting high,
her hugs are soothing and almost feel fine.

She is wondering about a mystery meeting,
what would happen with me fully addicted.
To be a high grade junkie initiated heating,
sleeping in your pores keeps me elevated.

The tattoo on my back shines on your face,
when you’re seeing the new suspension dots.
The directional speed you are inspired to race,
up anything and awaiting your anxious thoughts.

My blood stains on your lips were well worth the fall,
when the soul fails to comply emptiness fills with vacancy.
Time will die and love will fly as you lay at my feet and crawl,
with beauty in the eyes you’re drowning in the stench of my poetry.

Rachel Crogger

Ratchel’s eyes are inked and darkening,
her perfectly scared smile is to die for.

She expects the worse or at least nothing,
putting up walls to kick down the door.

Promises really piss her off when faking,
empty dried eyes and disperet cries roar.

Pathetic words of silence waiting for writing,
choke us all with shouting tears ready to pour.

This is how it feels when a new day is coming,
if she likes my poem bad enough maybe I’ll score.

Will Ball

She has the name,
of a gay porno star.
I’ll bet you she lost it,
in the back of a car.

Mirrors are smashed,
deconstructing perception.
What this artist needs,
is a sold out reception.

She creates for some artists,
who have certain needs.
The feeling of victory,
a tower among trees.

So buy her work fast,
before she meets me.
Because when that happens,
she will cost at least x-three