Cold is the Wrath of a Psycho, Blue Guitar or the Ballad of Johnny Six Fingers, Little Birdy and Fragment by Teresita Blanco

Cold is the Wrath of a Psycho, Blue Guitar or the Ballad of Johnny Six Fingers, Little Birdy and Fragment by Teresita Blanco

Bellow, we have some new poems of mine. The first three poems are songs. The last one is just a fragment. Cold is the Wrath of a Psycho is a weird song. I really do not remember what was the inspiration of that poem. The Blue Guitar is a narrative poem. I have very few of those kinds of poems. The Blue Guitar is my newest, best poems. I really like it a lot. Little Birdy is about a pair of love birds. For a while, a pair of love birds used to sing by my window. They sounded peachy until the night came. In my darkest hour, I wrote that cute song. The next day I got some rocks to get rid of the damn birds! Nah, I am just kidding. It was the neighbors who got rid of the birds.  I think... In any case, these lovely poems of mine deserve 5 stars rating.

Cold is the Wrath of a Psycho 
by Teresita Blanco

Cold is the wrath

Of a psycho,

Look at his gaze,

Such a menacing stare,

Such a threatening glare.

Cold is the wrath of a Psycho…

Wielding the blade

Of a hate he never felt,

See him come,

There he comes…

Cold is the wrath of the Psycho…

In his gaze,

There is haze,

It’s a maze.

Look at him,

His head turns.

Flee, he escapes

In his cape.

Cold is the laugh of a psycho… 

Blue Guitar or the Ballad of Johnny Six Fingers 
by Teresita Blanco

Johnny six fingers

Has a blue guitar.

Look at him writing

For a two string,

My, how he loves to sing.

The best guitarist

In a five mile radius,

Jonny six fingers.

He spent his hours,

Saving, counting.

Hoping to light his ember

With a true fender.

Johnny six fingers

Sold his blue guitar.

Look at him wailing,

Hoping and shouting

For his old guitar.

The night is cold,

His eyes grow old.

Johnny six fingers

Now has four fingers.

His old guitar

Is humming, howling.

In his darkest hours,

Johnny four fingers

Turns on the radio

To hear his old blue,

Say once more, hello.

The old blue

Now has six strings,

Listen to her sing!

Johnny now sings

To the memory,

To the melody

Of his old two string guitar!

 

Little Birdy
by Teresita Blanco

Come forth and sing,

Your song

Little birdy, little birdy.

Your sweet melody

Tears the world asunder,

Like the thunder,

Like the thunder.

Come forth and sing,

Little birdy, little birdy.

Your once sweet melody

Has turned sour

In this hour,

In this final hour.

Come forth and sing,

Just to me,

Just to me.

Little Birdy, sing

Just for me!! 

Fragment 
by Teresita Blanco

Take a deep breath,

The air is putrid,

Seek not the culprit.

The stench lies within.

 
Copyright Teresita Blanco

You do not have permission to use my poems without my express written consent.