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Gerald H Oglesby

of

Berea, OH, US

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Left Over

by

Gerald H Oglesby

It tasted better the next day
the left over
caccading into lonely
night's.
Small brown almond shaped eye's
searched, blinking away
wmotional moister, seeking
desperately a familiar
face.
Refolding the the paper
blotting out reality
conjuring up another fuzzy
excuse.
Today, it was not to be
only left
overs.


Black Soul

by

Gerald H Oglesby


Do you know how I feel
Seeing you only makes me want to get ill
Fine dark Godiva chocolate skin
Drippin all over me, fittin' me like a glove
Is what I'm feeling
Theraputic to my bones
I have no dout it is my Black Soul

Do you know how I feel
I don't think so
Yearning for you is so unreal
I can't deal your body is like an ancient vitange wine
I dare not drink least I be smitten with reprise
I have no dout it is my Black Soul

Wanting you is like grits and fried fish,
And a hot butter honey biscuit
On a good Sunday morning
it makes me wanna holler this feeling
I have no dout it is in my Black Soul