I cannot push aside
the memory of injustice
fueling the engine of
your supply and my demand.
All are soiled in it;
the way of the world,
it is our way,
but not mine anymore.
Bound by red thread,
I’ll tend our union’s garden.
***
Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
Clutching
her words
to my vest;
dropping
her dreams
into cloth bundle,
cinched tightly,
secured;
stuffing
my pockets
with her selfless acts
of kindness;
smuggling
her tenderness
to safety
undetected, strapped
to inner thigh;
like a bandit,
I steal away
with memories
of her.
***
Photo by Alexander Possingham on Unsplash
“But I couldn’t control my restlessness, an eagerness for violation was growing in me, I wanted to break the rules, as the entire world seemed to be breaking the rules.”
– Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay, a novel by Elena Ferrante
We should forget.
It’s better this way.
I won’t divine
entangled spirits
from rat-nested bedsheets,
shades unfurled,
eclipsing shame.
We have fun.
Yeah we did.
No love misplaced,
like spilled spirits
and tongues.
Yet I return,
haunted spirit,
to the mistake
we never made.
***
Inspired by Real Toads Words To Live By, hosted for the final time by Rommy. We were asked to reflect on a word or quote that means something special to us.
Ironically, as someone who loves words, I drew a blank here. Ultimately, I settled on a quote from a book I’m currently reading (Book three of a four-book series by Elena Ferrante, collectively titled Neapolitan Novels.)
Also shared at dVerse Quadrille #93: Spirited Poems, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets contributed to this prompt here.
Lip cracked,
erupted.
Stench of
menthol-infused fists
kisses mouth;
sentient ashtray punch-out.
Penny-flavored,
earthy-scented,
crimson disgust;
skin rising,
purpling dough,
enough to draw sympathy;
not enough for state-intervention.
Manly punishment for talking back.
Lead-knuckled wake-up-call
to first adult decision,
aged sixteen.
Time to go.
***
Shared at dVerse Quadrille #92: Take a crack at poeming, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets contributed here.
Also shared at Real Toads November: Nothing is more memorable than scent, Imagined By Sanaa Rizvi.
Image by Ichigo121212 from Pixabay
master bedroom,
tinted garden-green
with golden glints
of morning
sun rises
with my grip
on the circle of
your hips
we circle back
to forest-hidden roads
traveled in youthful
exuberance
wizened
upon shared intimate
garden paths
wicked giggles
yield the voice-box
to guttural yearnings
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.
Also shared at Real Toads The Tuesday Platform, hosted by Rommy.
I’m muted snowfall
not a whisper
your dutiful servant
I will comply
you inquire deeper
I offer surface
still, you insist
my voice matters
I demur again
not from shame
I’m muted snowfall
not a whisper
you pontificate, listening
yet never heard
my cries
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #85 – Raising our Poetic Voices, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.
Image by bdpeterson from Pixabay
You see your freckles as
the sun marking you as you age;
I see them as a hybrid game
of connect-the-dots with kisses
and color-by-numbers where
my lips brush skin till filled
with a rosy blush, augmenting
exquisite mixed-medium
masterpiece.
Pucker-up, sweet
sun-kissed canvas.
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #84, hosted by Mish. Other poets have contributed to this prompt here.
Photo by Sora Sagano on Unsplash
Koi become dragons
if they want it enough.
I’ve heard the lore,
seen both koi and dragon,
but never observed one
push through.
Swimming
with the current,
I doubt experiencing it
personally,
but
the Yellow River
is long, and
unpredictable.
I haven’t seen everything.
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #81 – Here there be {poem} dragons, hosted by whimsygizmo. Other poets have contributed here.
Drum’s our kingpin.
Bass rides shotgun.
Others rise and fall in time,
adding color accents.
But drum and bass are
basic black and blue; all
pigments combined in
shockwave tommy-guns
to writhing canvases
strongarm-robbing them
of inhibiting spoils.
The perfect syncopated crime,
sharply-committed in-time.
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #78: Rise prompt. Other poets contributed here.
Also written for NaPoWriMo’s day 22 prompt: “write a poem that engages with another art form – it might be about a friend of yours who paints or sculpts, your high school struggles with learning to play the French horn, or a wonderful painting, film, or piece of music you’ve experienced – anything is in bounds here, so long as it uses the poem to express something about another form of art.”
(Blogger’s Note: I couldn’t choose between the two music selections, so I added them both. Whoopsie!)
Image by author
Trust-association
with me requires
two-factor authentication.
First respect the space
– all space – between you
and me,
boundaries – all types
– especially life
and death.
Secondly – and this
is of paramount importance
– I cannot tell you
out loud
or in print.
With a whisper,
you’ll know.
***
Written for dVerse Quadrille #77 – Ace of Poems, and for NaPoWriMo’s day 8 prompt: using business jargon a metaphor for a poem.
Paranormal Women's Fiction, Urban Fantasy, and Fairy Tale Retellings with a Modern Twist
True tales over 50
exercising heart and mind, lest I waste away
Insight and inspiration for writers and readers
Some verses, some hues
"If you talk to God you're religious. If God talks to you, you're psychotic."
Gallery of Photography
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
Aooga, Aooga - here there be prompts, so dive right in
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 