These LINES are a SILENT WHISPER
A RHYME of BRICK and IRON
BIGGER than a dam across
A tumbling RIVER
SAFETY is found at a HEIGHT
Soaring away from the crowd
A FINE fence of mortar and steel
A DIVIDE against floods of emotions
THEY MULTIPLY every time I WRITE
I GRADE each sentence and angle
A PILOT, I scribble my guide
An INCH neither GIVEN nor taken
The hurricane of life swirls around me
Courage my only REPLY
The idea, in it's infancy, took quite a different form.
Did eyes exist before the stars?
Was consciousness the norm?
Were we aware before the drop, that we were always falling?
It wasn't so;
From what we know,
The eight segments were what arose
When through the pool we spluttered...
Falafel and salami lined the streets, and liver cluttered
All the handsome rare black-market stalls,
And that was when she uttered:
"Markmenshowing, in the age of cheese!!!"
Startling all the strangers...
"Keep your filthy paws off of those mermaids please.
And in the end the coathangers are where obsession took her;
Marx was looking tempting, but not quite enough to hook her,
And the sea-lion was mocking her with whiskers all the while,
While the second five accosted her, in quite a brutish style,
And the contents of Kurt Vonnegut's; A myst'ry til the end!!!
But she's awful thankful anyway, for randies from a friend.
And the trophy stands; some mockingly,
A shameful vict'ry taunter.
For the challenge begged no entrants...
Yet the rebel dared to saunter.
Happy Halloween People :)
On the twelfth day of Halloween,
my true love sent to me;
Twelve Vampire Bites,
Eleven Skeletons Skating,
Ten Wolfs A-howling,
Nine Zombies Lurching,
Eight Monsters Mashing,
Seven Ghosts A-haunting,
Six Witches Witching,
Five Skull Rings,
Four Crying Bats,
Three Freaky Frogs,
Two Slimy Slugs,
And a Potion in a Cauldron.
autumn witch and her slayer
Treetops stain orange and brown.
Vibrancy settles in the hills.
Red wine stains above the sky;
black clouds tuft into raven wings.
She stands with inky hair,
long strands curl down
like snakes that await pray.
Still, yet elegant.
He towers with a quiver
on his lip.
Wet eyes beg her to run.
He clutches danger in his hands.
She closes in on him.
The way she walks is
an autumn breeze
and a slow tempo.
Lips caress on his skin.
The target on her drifts.
He falls for the daunted.
Falls for the spell,
the one he convinces himself
he is under.
The spell is just her.
She will not burn
She is his but cannot be.
He clutches her wrists.
He begs her to run.
She steps back and
leaves him in curiosity.
Heat chars her skin.
She steps in the gap
where he lacks to
finish out his hunt.
Occult boots scuff firewood.
Ash stained fingers trace
beautiful edges and lines.
She was love.
It’s dark outside.
The world slumbers, all too comfortable to wake up, yet.
Some like you though, battle the waves of sleepiness for they have work to attend to.
Work, even if it’s still dark outside.
You grab your phone to just stop the incessant ringing.
I’m up, damnit.
You sit up as the world returns to blissful silence.
The cozy moment lingers for a second, when your face is hit by sharp air.
Shivering slightly, you rub your hands together to warm the frozen digits.
Time to get up.
You get out of bed, even as your entire body protests against it.
Quietly, you pad into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea.
The tea boils as you sluggishly go through your daily activities.
Pouring the tea into your favorite mug, you sit down for a moment.
Cradling the mug with both hands, you allow its warmth to seep into your fingers.
And for a while, it’s just you and the warm mug of tea– as you steal a few peaceful moments before the chaotic day begins...
New Moon Rituals
The new moon, bright
in its darkness
like an eye's iris,
but to those
those that practice
calling to the moon goddess
and her open arms
of the new moon
light their candles
and state their intentions
and manifest the
desires and wants
of the day to day
in their mortal life
I joined Prose sometime in February. It's almost seven months later and I already have 200 posts, most of them in response to some sort of challenge or another, some of them announcing winners from challenges I made and some of them from things I've written for other reasons.
The best part of it all is the people I've met here and the wonderful pieces of writing I've had the pleasure of exploring.
Keep on creating everyone. Write a little every day, even if you only have ten minutes to sit down with a pen and paper. I promise you it will make you a better wordsmith every time you do it.
Paris to the Moon
today I’m from Paris
having wine on a side street
tomorrow I’m from
where the world isn’t
and in two days
today I’m from everywhere
sipping martinis and
nowhere contains me
and when they ask me
what do you do
I say I’m a writer
makes up stories
about their identities
Flowers On A Dead Man’s Grave
When I was a child
I found a clearing
In the center of the clearing
Was a tree.
In the center of the tree
There was a plaque
That I did not see.
It mourned someone named Chris,
Someone that I never knew,
And in my ignorance and bliss
I picked the flowers that lay.
There must have been a whole bouquet
I scattered them in the woods
Along the way
And when I returned to that sweet clearing
I saw the plaque I’d been ignoring.
I saw the words and began to panic
Afraid of supernatural vengeance.
I searched and searched through all the woods
But no flowers grew that season.
Years later in the hot summer breeze
I returned on a whim.
I remembered the tree and the flowers I stole
I remembered Chris and the debt I owe.
So I wandered through the blooming woods
And picked a few flowers that I could
I laid them down at Chris’s grave
And apologized for the mistake I made.
A debt finally repaid
A letter to the Dead
You got my book wet and began apologizing profusely.
Although I couldn't really be angry because you were absolutely beautiful.
You were the kind of pretty that people have to take a second glance at, the best kind.
You asked if you could buy me a new copy but the book was just a paperback and it was my third time reading it, obviously not a big deal.
I said sure.
Sure led to “okay” which led to ’here’s my number”
Followed by “how bout a trip to Barnes and noble next weekend?”
Life was set.
Do you remember that trip?
It led to my greatest love
And my greatest loss.
I wish we could discuss it but you have moved on to another life.
By the way, my love, I never got rid of that book.