Friday, November 10, 2017


Shameless-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (C)


It was twelve o'clock, the usual time
She came bouncing through the cafe door
Her full breasts stretching her blouse,
Skin-tight pants, high heels, dressed like a whore.
She felt quite nifty at age fifty,
As the men ogled her a long time
She was the center of attention among the younger,
Even those now long past their prime.
She liked how the men admired her,
Offering to buy her coffee every time…
To some she was their Goddess, to others a cougar,
To the Stalker, she was simply a dangerous whore.
Day after day he watched her and waited to see her
From his usual table, twenty paces from the door.
He noted her movements, he watched her from behind
He pictured her naked; her body deeply etched into his mind.
He was reeling with an erotic feeling,
He chose to indulge, not ignore
He longed for her to heat his body, dripping sex from every pore.
The cafe was alive with conversations taking place
Young lovers holding hands, dreamy smiles upon their face,
She ordered her seafood salad and a cold glass of tea
The old man in line behind her winked and said:
"A moment of your precious love is good enough for me."
She giggled and walked away to find a table,
So the Stalker approached her and asked,
"Can I share this table with you so I can eat a bite?"
She looked up at him; the blush left her blanching cheek
He stood there waiting for her to answer,
While his spirits sank and his limbs grew weak,
She seemed to know this man from somewhere,
Which made her feel nervous and scared.
She didn't know quite how to respond; her thoughts were oddly impaired,
Something was odd and amiss, but of what, she wasn’t aware.
Her hands shook as she stabbed the salad, taking an oversized bite.
She continued to nibble, even though she had lost her appetite.
She was starting to feel a sense of nausea, pushing her plate away
Since she was no longer hungry, there was no further need to stay
She got up and walked out, her figure looking well-formed and slim
She always managed to look fashionable, even for her daily trip to the gym.
The Stalker followed wearing glasses, a false mustache and a cap on his head
He knew her apartment and workplace, so followed her to the gym instead.
She turned her head to see if anyone was trailing behind
She kept looking over her shoulder, paranoia commanded her mind.
He watched the way her hips swayed, as she walked quickly to the gym.
Following very slowly, he knew those hips were meant for him.
He was starting to feel horny; as his hunger became strong for her body
He decided soon enough, he would take her to a private party.
He wanted desperately to explore her luscious lips
He yearned to feel her passion under the touch of his fingertips.
She arrived at the gym and quickly changed into her bikini
Drawing looks from every roving eye.
She wished she could drink several Martinis
A nervous wreck she was, but couldn't understand why
She jumped into the pool and took her swim
While the angry stalker hid behind the hatred lying within.
She got out of the pool beckoning a man to bring her a towel
He was there by her side in a few seconds by and by
She asked for his name, he replied Richard Powell
She quickly patted and started to rub herself dry,
She asked Richard if he would get her a coffee, black
Then coyly handed him the towel to wipe her back
The Stalker became insanely jealous, clenching fists while nostrils flared,
She suddenly turned around, feeling incredibly scared.
The Stalker mentally called her a "Dangerous Whore."
Adding that soon he would settle the score,
He said, "Your day is coming closer, you pompous whore."
I am reeling with feelings that you just choose to ignore.
I'll be there in the evening before the sun goes down,
Before you have an opportunity to put on your nightgown.
Enough of all this seductive dressing, of teasing men suggestively,
You are mine and only mine, and that is how it will be.
He left in anger, walking as fast as he could
He kept saying, "How can something be bad when it feels so good.”
He reached her condo and hid quickly inside
He had a hunger for her, which he could not deny
Her sandals slapped the ground as she ran speedily home.
It was a place where she felt safe even while living alone
She stepped inside examining each room,
She just wished she could relieve this sense of doom…
No signs of forced entry, so she undressed to take a bath
Still feeling tense and nervous, oblivious of the oncoming wrath.
Meanwhile as she bathed the naked Stalker waited for her on the bed
The more he fantasized, the more his sexual appetite wanted to be fed.
Suddenly the sound of the water stopped
When she opened the door, she was in shock
"OMG! It's you, No, this can't be," she started to shriek
He quickly grabbed a rag and from the bed he managed to leap
Giving her a backhanded blow across her face
He shoved the rag inside her mouth,
To keep her quiet in case she should cry out.
He threw her on the bed, quickening his pace.
He tied her hands to the headboard behind her
As he slit her wrists he called her a shameless whore
"Your number is up; it’s time for me to settle the score."
She felt his manhood throb, as he pumped his seed unmercifully into her;
He fell upon her exhausted and saw she was still alive
He asked himself vaguely,
‘How long does it take for her to die?’
Her breathing was becoming shallow,
Her lungs were fighting desperately for air.
Rejection is always hard to swallow, and often hard to understand
He said: "Life did not turn out exactly the way I had it planned."
At that moment, his logic, his human reason, was completely gone.
"Oh Well," he plunged the knife into her chest; saying
 "Now there is nothing left of you to tease or to look down upon."
Whatever he did he felt no remorse.
He had no regrets as he took her by force.
He quickly dressed and left, as the cougar lay murdered,
A corpse dripping blood to the floor
To everyone, she was a goddess. But to the stalker,
She was merely a shameless whore.



Sunday, January 29, 2017

Writer's Block-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)

Am I poet, or am I writer?
I just can't differentiate between the two.
Sometimes I'm good with poetry,
There are articles and short stories I also like to do.

Every so often writer's block visits, my uninvited guest,
Hindering the writing process, that usually flows at its very best.
Self-doubt creeps upon me, self-worth drags me down,
The more I try to write, the larger the paper mound.

The plot gets too twisted, leading characters too grotesque,
My story becomes too dark altogether.
Eventually one thing leads to another, and
There you go, a day's work for the house-keeper beneath my desk.

A habit was forming, watching pages get crumpled and thrown,
Undeniably it's a sad journey in creative writing,
All writers must travel alone.
No matter how much I try, my waste basket keeps getting filled.

Oh woe is me, what a waste of creative time,
I've gone from skilled to feeling unskilled.
Writer's block makes me angry; inspiration doesn't come quick enough,
Words that once flowed easily freeze, making it impossible to strut my new stuff.

I'll try my hand at poetry; maybe I'll be lucky then,
So I can put an end to this writer's block and sweetly say amen.
I've searched and searched for rhyming words,
Fluttering all around inside my head.

My mind keeps getting twisted, unemotionally fed.
Thoughts that keep me from sleep and a comfy bed.
Screaming to be released, requesting to be heard.
All trapped inside like a miserable caged bird.

Some of these words are wise and linger,
They're the sweetness of fruit, why should I hinder?
Others will take me to heights intense,
Everything is possible, yet together do they make sense?

Ugh, poetry in whatever shape or form does not inspire me,
It's written in a way to confuse and ruin my tranquility.
So where do I go? What can I do?
The answers were there, which I very well knew.

Play background music, burn scented candles,
Slip away to a quiet place and walk.
Visit a crowded cafe, sip coffee, and
Hear some interesting gossip talk.

Nothing is wasted, that is for sure,
For writer's block, there is always a cure!
So back to my keyboard once again,
The time I spend there, will not be in vain.

The Bully

By Miriam B. Medina(Copyright)


There he stood,
6 feet tall
All large and strong
In his head covered hood,
The bully of Roanoke High
Pompous Bastard,
Who does he think he is?

His face like stone
Flexing his muscles
Rubbing his fist
Proud as an eagle
He was the King of his turf
Surrounded by his subjects
All following him, like his shadow.

Ever in search of prey,
Many trembled when they'd hear his name
Or pass him by in the hall,
Not one battle did he yet lose
No matter how small or tall in size
I'm the King, he shouted with glee
He snapped his fingers,
And the gang drew near
Their eyes following the direction
Of his finger.

Coming his way
Was a short, thin boy
As he came closer, he looked at the group
The King noticed his eyes were slanted
He raised his hand and ordered the attack
The gang jumped on him and knocked him down
They kicked him in the face and body
They grabbed him by his backpack
And dragged him over to the king.

The King punched him in the face
Blood squirted everywhere
He cried "stop, stop; you're hurting me."
The King suddenly threw his head back,
Roaring with laughter
"Beat him up again," he commanded.

Like puppets they did his bidding
The gang kicked him and punched him some more
They threw books at him
His face was all bloody as he lied still on the ground
Just as the group turned to walk away
The young Chinese boy managed to get up and run
He was hurting, badly
He said if I don't get out of here
They will kill me.

The young Freshman kept running
Until he got home feeling safe.
He was scared, he screamed and banged on the door
His mother opened the door and saw her bloody-faced son
He collapsed in her arms.
She was hysterical crying "What happened?" she said.
"I don't know Mama. I was on my way to school
This gang attacked me.
I don't want to go back to that school," he said.

"I will talk to your Uncle Henry."
"He is a Martial Arts teacher; I know he will help you."
"How can he help me, Mom?"
"He will make you strong and show you how to defend yourself
Against many."
Peter listened to his mother.
He went to live with Uncle Henry and changed schools.

For three years he trained day and night with Uncle Henry.
Practicing techniques, improving his skill.
Uncle Henry was pleased With Peter's progress;
He worked very hard
Now Peter Chin was ready.

He went back to Roanoke High to even the score
Waiting to meet the King eye to eye.
Once again the King appeared with his followers
And spied the Chinese boy
"Hey, that kid looks familiar," he said to his gang.
"Isn't that the kid we beat up three years ago?"
"Where has he been all this time?"
Peter stared back boldly at the King.

The King felt jittery
The gang began to circle the young man
Peter only had a stick in his hand.
Do or Die rang in his head
The King laughed out loud
"Get him," He shouted.
One by one Peter knocked them down
Only Peter and the King were left,
All alone.

The King lunged toward Peter
Trained well, Peter moved quickly
Giving him a Karate kick to the chest
Leaving him breathless on the ground.
There he lies, alone, humiliated and destroyed
The once upon a time
Bully of Roanoke High.
Peter turned and walked away.

Ice Cold Sweaty Beer On A Hot Summer's Day

by Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)


He was a blonde, muscular, tall construction worker in his mid-thirties,

Who had acquired muscle mass with relative ease.

Not accustomed to working in such extreme heat,

Thirst consumed him from the inside out.

Repressed anger turned his face scarlet; he wanted so badly to shout.

His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth; His chest gulped air,

He needed something cold, anything that might ease his despair.

"AH, beer is what I need," he said, "not water, that's for sure."

Beer is so unique, with its frothy foam and undeniable allure.

"Indeed, BEER is for the bold!

It slides down smoothly, especially when it is cold.

My shirt clings to me in this scorching heat,

I wish these trees would offer shade so I could crawl beneath.

It keeps growing hotter and hotter; my body screams for deliverance,

This terrible blur of a blazing sun is leaving me with such a bad experience."

To his boss he said: "I'm taking my lunch break now.

Whether you approve or disallow.

When I get back the job will be done,

I assure you I'll end what I have begun."

Off of his co-workers he mooched some bucks here and there,

Promising to bring back something to ease their same despair.

He drove around and stumbled onto a topless bar named 'Titties'.

He had been there before with one of his co-workers called Smithy.

It was the only place that was near,

And he was desperate for a cold beer.

He loved the bar; it was his kind of place,

Just the word 'Titties' put a smile on his face.

He stepped from the blazing sun into the smoke-filled darkness

Rubbing his eyes, he saw the place was still sleazy-looking and airless

He ignored the dank dark air and headed straight to the bar,

The light reflecting a path from the door that he'd left ajar.

He remembered the young women rubbing their scantily clad bodies

All over aroused men, trying to pry away lecherous dollar bills...

"I'll be damned," he said smiling to himself,

"I'm amazed at their great marketable skills."

His eyes were riveted on the new go-go dancer before him,

He found it hard to suppress his feelings, so he made his face seem grim.

She was seductively bumping and grinding, stripping to near nudity

Every inch of her body was under laser focused scrutiny.

They kept feeding dollar bills fingering them slowly inside her G-string,

A faceless guy yelled "Ooooh Wheeeee you're hotter than chili; I want you to be my wild thing!"

She opened her legs wide, scissoring them around the pole,

He heard someone else shout, "Let's share some fun times honey, let's let them roll!!"

He watched how her firm breasts would heave and bounce,

Dancing to hip-hop remixes, moving her body where it counts.

He wanted desperately to explore and savor her beautiful tits

To feel her passion burn beneath his fingertips.

He watched her intently, blood rushing into his cheeks,

He was perspiring profusely, feeling dizzy and weak.

His erection reached its climax, trying to escape his jeans.

He was suddenly awakened from his sensuous dream.

'Ahhh... ' He liked that one and wished he could give her a ride,

To consume her, inhale her, use her up and cast her aside,

But after all, he wasn't here for such fleshy fun;

Thirsty, he had wanted desperately to get out of that scorching sun

He was holding on tightly, clinging to his borrowed money,

Though he really wanted to spend it on this sweet honey.

"Hey bartender," he shouted, "Give me a cold draft beer.

With this blazing weather I'm parched and I feel kind of weird!

If you don't believe me step outside and feel the sun's rays bake,

At 99 degrees where I worked all day, making my back sorely ache.

Now I'm tired of sitting here and singing this same worthless song,

Just saddle me up a beer and make sure it's cold and strong!"

"I only have a short lunch hour with no time to waste!

I need a cold beer right now to pacify my taste.

I'm sitting here fuming with a couple of dollars to pay,

So until you serve me that frosty brew, I'm not going away!"

He sighed and he moaned, staring at the barkeep

As he waited for the bartender to serve him his beer

An annoying drunk plopped down next to him

With a hard-luck story, he didn't want to hear.

He said "F$#@" off man; I'm not here to drink to your health

or give you three cheers,

Nor am I your therapist, paid hourly to hear your woes

And watch your cheeks get flooded by bittersweet tears.

Don't ask me for money, 'cause I'm clutching on to my last penny,

Hoping the bartender doesn't remember that I still owe him myself

The go-go dancer was a big star at 'Titties', she loved the spotlight

It was where she sang Karaoke each and every night

Whenever she wasn't squirming half nude for stiff dollar bills,

She would hustle up drinks for a tip,

Some guys would schmooze her; others would give her the slip.

The construction worker's time was up; he had to get back to work

The bartender ignored his request though he needed to amend

What flaws between them still may lurk.

"Hey, bartender, I have cash. I need two six-packs and a couple of beers!"

To which the bartender finally replied,

"I've been waiting a long time, lucky me, we happen to coincide... "

"We sell the coldest beer around, just not to all.

You see my man; many patrons visit this place,

But one thing's for sure, I never forget a face.

Sorry, mate; with me, you don't have good credit,

In fact you still owe me a hundred from before!

So if you want a beer here, you might as well forget it.

Before I give you even one drop more, you best

Pay up right now or get thrown out the door."

Immediately four bouncers showed up in response to a signal,

Judging by the bouncer's physiques they weren't there to mingle.

So, empty-handed, he quickly turned and said:

"Let me out of here before the sidewalk becomes my bed!"

I need to walk out of here with dignity, to walk, not crawl.

As he passed dour nameless beer-drinkers, he cursed them all

He quickly jumped into his truck, spinning tires chewing up tar,

Putting as much distance as he could between him and "Titties" topless bar.

The Workaholic- A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (C)



From the first moment he saw her
He was hooked, sunk and smitten.
Passing the chic design dress shop on the corner
He saw stunningly beautiful large hazel eyes, she was
Tall and slim, had a certain wispy elegant beauty
In the way she moved about the window showcase.
She was wearing a silky smooth pale blue dress
Complimenting her figure and long legs.
A strand of blond hair kept falling onto her forehead
Covering her eyes, she kept pushing it aside.
Surrounded by fashionable mannequins
That she arranged in different poses around her.

She sorted out the various decorations
Hanging them one by one until the design was complete.
Stepping back, she examined her work and was satisfied.
Susan Edwards was an established visual designer
Of displays, store windows and sales floors.
Oblivious to anyone watching her
She continued to decorate the storefront window
In her signature style, but in holiday fashion
And she was gathering quite a crowd.
It was incredible how eye-catching her display was.
She knew it would be the talk of the neighborhood.
Day after day Brad walked past that corner to catch his bus.

He was so engrossed in business matters that
He hadn't noticed this goddess before,
That was, at least until now.
Stepping out from his office building he meandered
Down the street until he paused, right in
Front of her showcase window.
He watched her for a few minutes,
Engaged by the grace and beauty and creativity,
As she carefully moved the mannequins about
Engrossed with her display, she didn't hear him enter
When he spoke, Susan jumped, apparently startled
That anyone would interrupt her, invade her world.

"Hello, I love your exhibit. You have created a warm atmosphere.
Your neutral colors are stimulating and inspirational.
I love the way you accented the area with throws,
And with these cushions and flowers and paintings.
'Why did he have to interrupt my concentration?' she thought to herself.
She didn't ask for his opinion or appreciate being interrupted.
"I'm sorry, but I am busy. Perhaps we can talk when I'm not so harried."
He wanted her from the moment he had looked at her.
She was beautiful, intellectual and ever so classy,
One might even say that she was a bit sassy.
Not accepting a rebuke, he said "Have you noticed
Every holiday revolves around food? Stop what you are doing!"

Accept my dinner invitation in the name of the Holidays!"
"My name is Brad, Brad Williams." He said immediately. "And yours?"
Speaking in a buttery smooth yet commanding voice,
His white teeth showed in a reckless boyish grin.
At age 49 he looked delicious with his salt and pepper goatee,
Dressed in an expensive dark suit wearing a very expensive watch.
A diamond ring consuming his finger.
Yes indeed, he was delicious, she said to herself.
The one thing that riveted her attention was the unmistakable smell of money.
The designer was unable to resist his charm.
"My name is Susan, Susan Edwards," she responded with a smile.
"And you look like you won't go away until I say yes," she told him.

"So my answer is Yes, I do accept."
There was a triumphant ring in his voice as he said, "Great."
Her stomach started to growl like a caged beast.
"I haven't had a break all day, so I appreciate the invitation," Susan said.
"There is a real good restaurant not too far from here." she suggested.
Without giving it a second thought Brad agreed.
Grabbing her coat, she reached for his arm.
As they stepped outside she wrapped her cloak tighter around her.
It felt like snow was coming. "Brrrrrrrr... " she said as she
Snuggled against his warm body to hide from the wind.
Dizzied by her closeness, Brad inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume.
To their relief, they finally arrived at the restaurant.

Brad immediately called over a waiter to take their food and drink orders.
This dinner invitation was the first of many that followed.
He knew he wanted to marry her,
She would be his trophy wife!
He needed her to enhance his image amongst peers and strangers
And to move up the corporate ladder
She fit perfectly into his plans,
Like a mannequin on a holiday throw rug,
But he wouldn't make any effort to be a part of her life
Little did she know, there wouldn't be any more time for fun or frolic
Life with her would change him into a workaholic.
Susan was falling in love with Brad,

She loved the steady surprise gifts of jewelry.
She was willing to forsake her career
In place of marriage to this wealthy man.
After several months of courtship,
She accepted his proposal of marriage.
Then began her private hell, with frequent outbursts of jealousy,
Accusing him of having affairs with other women
Demanding that Brad should spend more time with her
And the children than he did.
The annoying endless rounds of social events,
The hypocritical smiles she was forced to display,
His rattle of compliments did not even make her feel appreciated.

They had two sons but he had no idea how to love a child.
The cold suppers that wasted in wait for him
As his excuses increased day after day,
Disappointments after disappointments,
A closet full of bored evening gowns and a lonely mink coat
With nowhere to go and nothing to do
She became often cold and unfeeling,
Always in a bad mood, complaining, complaining...
She didn't want an absent workaholic or life-of-the-party guy,
She just wanted her own idea of Brad.
Brad was now President of 'HCL Technologies.'
His response was always the same, time and again.

"Have I not provided well for you and the kids? Look at this Fifth Avenue apartment,
The life of luxury you lead! You have a maid that cooks and cleans, the best schools for the kids."
"Do you ever say you love me? Or prioritize ME?" Susan sobbed. "I'm lonely."
"Then go back to your window designing and keep yourself busy. I can't be making money
And hold your hand all of the time. I thought you understood."
Brad raised his voice, not caring if the neighbors heard him.
"Damn it Sue, nothing I do or say ever pleases you. You should count yourself lucky.
I am the President of my Company. I achieved that with a lot of hard work.
I didn't have a magic wand to make it happen. It was sacrifice, time and discipline."
"And what about me? Didn't I benefit you among your peers?" she cried.
"You have everything any woman can want and still it is not enough."
"I was only a toy for you to show off." Susan sobbed

"I am tired of this shit, your constant whining," Brad screamed.
"I am not a workaholic because I love my work so much,
It's because I despise the rest of my life with you."
"I'm leaving." he snapped, opening the door. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer."
He slammed the door loudly behind him, not waiting one more
Second to hear her response for he truly did not care.
Susan stood there shocked and speechless, not believing he had left
Her two children were crying as they clung to her, confused and scared.
Brad's relationship with his wife had deteriorated beyond repair,
The glue that held them together had finally dried up, no longer holding vows together.
Thus Brad's greed for power and his Workaholism killed their seven-year old marriage.

A Walk With A Wise Old Man


By Miriam B Medina  (c)



It was a radiant morning unfolding when
An old man with a white mustache and short beard
Was seen walking briskly down the long country road
For a moment, astonished, he sat speechless and still;
The panorama below was one of absolute scenic beauty.
A soft wind pushed a few wispy clouds across the blue sky.

The scent of radiant morning flowers was
Everywhere present, he inhaled it deeply.
He observed the continuously changing panoramic river
As he watched the distant mountain-tops catch the first bright beams of the Rising Sun.
He was at peace and happy as he whistled and played his harmonica,
His sandals slapping against the ground.

The winds flowed through his unkempt shoulder length white hair,
Locks and curls blowing around his face in the gentle breeze.
He filled his lungs deeply with the on-rush of scenery;
Wildflowers, mountains, trees... aware of nature's connection, he felt alive
Suddenly in the distance he happened to see a little girl by the wayside,
She looked sad and was crying loudly.

He couldn't bear to see this child in such a state,
His heart was deeply moved.
As he approached her he asked, in a soft gentle voice:
"Little girl, why are you crying? It is such a bright and beautiful day."
The sobbing child paused, looked up, and replied;
I have lost my puppy dog, Mister, I can't find him anywhere.

"He was my best friend," she told him, wiping her eyes.
The old man said "Don't worry; I will help you to find him."
The little girl's eyes lit up. She rushed to the old man,
Giving him a big relieved bear hug.
He reached out for her little hand and held it tight.
As they walked, He asked for the dog's name.

"Angel." said the little girl sweetly.
The old man smiled and replied "What a sweet name,
It has such a splendid sound to it!"
They walked and walked as they called out the name "Angel."
The old man began to say many things about nature
To the little girl, and she became silent with wonder.

His voice now had a strangely soothing effect on her.
He stopped for a moment to contemplate a large green needled tree.
He said to her, "See that tree? Do you know the name of it?"
The little girl answered, "No, I don't."
"It is called a Pine tree," the old man said.
She was so fascinated with his words; the missing dog was temporarily forgotten.

The old man continued to describe the tree in detail
As he eyed it from top to bottom, up and down, down and up...
"Look at this tree," the old man began, "see how she stands so straight, strong and still,
Basking in the warmth of the sun and billowing freely in the air?"
See how her pine needles playfully dance and swirl in the wandering breeze
While her branches swim, sway, and scrape away at the skies?"

"She is relishing a treasured moment of sweet serenity,
Step back and see how the scope of her splendor sprawls against the sky!"
The old man described in detail how this tree protects its environment
Against any supposed danger in a manner so motherly
As her branches swoop down, coddle and caress the ground in a loving way.
Still no response from the lost dog...

They continued to walk as the old man talked about
The blooming flowers with all of their colorful beauty,
The sweetness of the songs of birds, humming and chirping
Swallows fluttering by as they please, and most of all,
The way nature dresses up with ease, trying on colorful fall leaves
Like donning a gown for a ball, or slipping on spring leaves like a new bathing suit.

At that moment the little girl looked thoughtfully at a tall pine tree,
Carefully considering the old man's words.
She lifted one of its branches and saw her puppy dog soundly sleeping,
She let out a yell... "Angel... " and when the dog awoke he began to bark,
Excited, jumping with joy and licking her face.
The little girl turned to thank the old man but he had disappeared.

Comments?