Monthly Archives: October 2012

Wind

Have you seen the wind
today?

I saw it yesterday
dancing in the trees
and the grasses,
the colors of autumn
for a partner.

They whirled and twirled
among the shadows
and shafts of sunlight
scattered on the forest
floor.

Have you seen the wind
today?

I saw it yesterday.

elm leaves in the wind

elm leaves in the wind (Photo credit: withrow)

 

 

 

 

 

For Carry On Tuesday.

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Pretense

She smiled slightly
when the doctor
commented
on her quickened
pulse —
a symptom she
did not have
prior to his
touch.

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Waiting

I focus on the memories —

walks among the willows
when the breeze turned cool
and a rustle was heard
in the leaves;
the charm of her smile,
touch of her hand,
promise of a kiss. A time
when our world threatened
to explode with elation
and promise —

to get me through the unbearable.
Brittle skin sheaths her broken
body; horrid side effect of poison
intended to mend. The slightest
touch brings piercing pain.

So I sit by her side…waiting.

When the fever is high she will speak
to a former me, a man she sees beneath
this old crust, and we will talk of

walks among the willows
when the breeze turned cool
and a rustle was heard
in the leaves.

English: Picture made in an effort to demonstr...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the Sunday Whirl. Sorry, but I could find nothing
cheerful in this weeks words.

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Flicker

flicker
bicker
flutter
fight

flame draws them in,
captivated by light,
promises of warmth,
life, sustenance —
survival and instinct
at odds. Heat burning
more than saving.

flicker
bicker
flutter
fight

The flame was given freely, a source of light
and food and warmth. A beacon for those
looking for a source of provision; necessity
provided by providence to all drew near.
Bright, promising, a commitment to burn
forever, never taking, never doused.

flicker
bicker
flutter
fight

A mass of winged things
surround the light,
pressing closer, ever
demanding of their piece
of the flame. Engulfed by
the horde, robbed of vital
fuel, the flame is snuffed
out, all dependent on it
left blind and cold.

flicker
bicker
flutter
fight

A flame from a burning candle

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tonight at dVerse Anna asks for a bit of prose with our poetry, with perhaps a bit of postmodernist cynicism thrown in. Well, maybe she did not exactly ask for that last bit.

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Holes

I hollowed out a hole,
just there, to the right
of my soul.
An overripe circle
of sentimentality,
a place to store
my soundless phantoms
while their questions
wither from lack of
answers.
They are restless though,
these questing beasts,
silence being deficient
for their needs.
Often, they escape
confinement,
whirling through heart
and thought
until I relinquish my
hold and allow their
freedom.

For Shawna’s second list of Poetic words

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Playthings

She stays hidden behind
the sunglasses
while the glint from lip glossed
lips — firm and ripe
like forbidden fruit–
enslaves me.

Her smile promises…nothing.

A tease, toying with playthings,
able to lacerate my dignity
with a deft touch.

I only realize the damage
done as I watch her
walk away…
again.

don't walk away from me now.

don’t walk away from me now. (Photo credit: Beni Ishaque Luthor)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Three Word Wednesday

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Regrets

Vibrations of loneliness
in a dark room
transcend
mere pinpricks
of fear and longing.
Throbbing of a pulse
against a bracelet (memory),
quivering of breath,
beads of panic
dampen the oversize
sweatshirt (taken).
Pain partitions prevent
progress,
a fall backward
the only path.

Dark Wall

Dark Wall (Photo credit: bitpuddle)

 

 

 

 

 

 

For one list of Shawna’s Poetic words.

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False

The flow of water empties,
cleanses the un-pure
and replaces rough edges
with tenderness.

Breathing deep of swirling
incense smoke fills
voids vacated by dazed
and vacuous thoughts.

Foreboding flaps of wings —
made feral by guilt — shatter
the silence of a false
tranquility.

Fear scurries from the heat
of ambivalence and neglect,
assuming the attitude
of an obsequious servant.

All prayers are not holy.

Incense smoke

Incense smoke (Photo credit: Frank Kehren)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the Sunday Whirl

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