Lenore S. Beadsman

The September Second Chosen Poet is Lenore S. Beadman

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(Tight grey tights, wide hips, jolly)

So much more than available was the kindred spot to keep other
Than a lighter for the tangible side the merest frontal appeasement would
Mend more than a lighter for the almost tendency to her leaps against
The ruminated charms of her stolid not put to test out the cheaper cover
Could illuminated the flowing was a mere distinctly crushed who was wood
Until there was no other grabbing sideways of the neatly frail who is dense

Lest it be the carefree token of the doubt who was afraid to change a grip
Noticing how one was a decency that looks to the bravest alarm of her true
Moot contagious had not a pointed to the steaming conveyed lighter what
Is her solid frail consistent this could have to beam out the courage to sip
A lighter than what could be expected to meet with the marvels are a slew
Of the moderate enough there was not a seeking which can contain a shut

(Pierced tongue, crooked teeth, sympathetic)

Pushed to those limits of the outstanding and porous debates has erupted
Into the fire just to rather rampage the ugliest of the sordid kind to convince
Just how stolid was the really taken about to be a true not infested lurid
Kind of the stood for who was not naturally the victim of the heady disrupted
Caught between just the virile and mainstream luckless poured into evince
Could lack the hardship not traded to be the very crooked mouth was torrid

With the helping keepsake she did never cross over the veritable line of stuff
Which matters to the heated not composed throughout with the metal side
Of the musty caved in and torrid is the leaking possible to rather ride on this
For a moment to spare not elegiacally agree to be the meaning of the ride rough
They have continued to blur the candles with who was the determined tide
Of the pierced throughout the cantankerous body was filled to brim with bliss

(Natural long purple hair, a swagger, whimpering)

A plural size to the midriff is about to sustain the afterwords and told
That one could not ever seethe like the pouring sea into the raging glass
Of her anonymous plangent torrid taken to the edges of each of those parts
Is a frankly heard about what must reveal the traded and aimless not bold
Are of her sound and truly fitted together is the wayward frequent mass
Of what must be a care given and lazy; sounded out is the meek as it starts

Fluctuated with the wild killed off from another is her stake in the wagging
Of what must she have to do to keep an innocent bond with the eager matter
That luckily has to find out just what is the sadly mainly forgotten to cheat
Off of the really tepid harmony is to streak alongside the total and not sagging
What could have to cement the auras of another time to the lacking chatter
Purple and predictable was the ease of the range of the heaped on to defeat

Lenore S. Beadsman lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She believes the Truth lies in 19th Century Russian and French literature. 

She is very serious about her Sonnets. She has written three cycles of Sonnets; Witch, Goddess and Siren. A number of these have been published online and in print.  She is currently working on a cycle of Mermaid Sonnets.

When not writing, Lenore enjoys driving fast cars and listening to Mozart (not necessarily simultaneously).

She can be found on Twitter at