Category Archives: OpenLinkNight

Invisible Man

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But it felt like I was disappearing,
So I ran to the mirror to check it out.
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am, here I am”
But why do I feel like the invisible man?
Invisible Man – Joshua Kadison / Painted Desert Serenade

It’s the morning after and I feel shorn
I’m tired as can be and the sunlight slays
I want to anchor my thoughts, but I’m just too worn
Can’t seem to see myself in my weary daze
A shade off invisible in my haze
Rubbing at eyes seriously blearing
I try to own it to the night in wane
As day breaks through the window pane
Murky eyes see a body with vision clearing
But it felt like I was disappearing

I decide that it just can’t be the case
It’s my mind taking a very strange flight
This disembodiment of my face
But I couldn’t shake it, try as I might
That I was disappearing from sight
I hold my hands out front with a doubt
But my heart lurches at what it doesn’t see
The empty pristine space that should be me
And I wondered what that was about
So I ran to the mirror to check it out

For what will I be when I finish changing?
My very thoughts echoed the patterns swirled
What’s the impact on my life’s current arranging?
Just whose vision of me was being unfurled?
Will I be fluent in hate or bring joy to the world?
It all just felt like it an incredible scam
‘For self is a sea boundless and measureless’
Woe be to he who believes himself treasure less
So I just couldn’t get with this new program
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am, here I am”

I can’t be enticed to be another subject
Another copy of a copy I can’t tolerate
In the spirit of uniqueness, this I reject
And just that quick came a feeling sedate
Beyond my core I felt the quiet panic abate
Solidified back to me in a moment’s span
I’m glad to know I am in fact all here
Still, I just couldn’t shake that feeling so queer
Nothing changed from when this all began
But why do I feel like the invisible man?

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Yes, back to my beloved Glosa form.

dVerse ~ Poet Pub \ OpenLinkNight 

Come my Maestro

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21

.
.
Come my Maestro
It is time
For an interlude

Play me

Tinkle the lines of my throat
The soft, ripe, plush
Of my mouth
Like the keys of a piano

Strike a chord within me
And make me feel
Wanton

Your strong fingers caress
Along the curve of my hips
as I arch,
And give myself in
to your manipulations

You
Play
me

Like a fine instrument
Knowing just when to pluck
My strings

You create within me
A perfect concerto
Reaching crescendo
With your ravenous lips
Upon mine

We rise and fall
In rhythm
To the movements
Of your baton
Until the final note
Dies away
Deep within

And after this most brief
intermission
I dare say
It is worth the time
For an encore

Ce n’est pas?

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 94

Contented

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13

.
.
Sun
Dappled
Shimmering
Full of promise
With daylight dawning

Tears
Are done
I know this
Down to my core
As I stretch yawning

So
I rise
Contented
Feel my soul smile
In this new morning

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Welcome to the Arun.

A nonce poem created by friend and fellow blogger, GirlGriot. An Arun is a fifteen-line poem in three sets of five lines. Each set of five lines follows the same syllable structure: starting with one syllable and increasing by one syllable with each line. 1/2/3/4/5 — 3x. There are no other rhyme or structural requirements.  Though all of hers, so far, were left aligned and not rhymed, I took a little poetic license here.

dVerse  Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 113

Welcome

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16

.
.
Traded as payment for overdue wage
She knows, though it’s gilded, it’s still a cage
She’s yet to see sun
Shipped from place to place, displayed on a stage
To those whose tastes prefer ones underage
For sick sense of fun

She’s told back home no one’s missed her absence
She does not believe in their evidence
But bows to their might
Forced to do things against her conscience
Knowing what they do to those called nuisance
Flees into the night

Thunder rolls, storm clouds brew:
It was the sound of His measure of her trouble
It was the sound of His dread for her plight

Bloodied to a near pulp from being beat
In deepest fear of the oncoming feet
It was much too near
Oblivious to the filthy concrete
She lays prostrate in the dark on the street
It’s all she can hear

Brought to this new land for a tidy sum
From a land she never asked to leave from
She was their plaything
Smelling of cocaine, and cheap stale rum
She lays there waiting for death to come
She hears them calling

Lightning strikes, raindrops pelt:
It was the sound as His anger mounts
It was the sound of His tears falling

Glass grinds into her already raw shin
The pain raises a moan from deep within
They hear her outcry
A tear is slowly sliding down her chin
As they plunder through her most tender skin
Knives do not ask why

As each breath she takes become more shallow
Smiling, she knows she won’t see tomorrow
Her end has begun
She’s raised from the filth in which she wallows
A shining light eases her deep sorrow
At last she sees sun

Dew drops, Sun rises:
It was the sound as His arms open
It was the sound of His words of welcome

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 93

We All Still Know

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8

.
.
We sit and ponder the starkest
in night’s darkest,
catering to the fears we sow.
We all still know
the sum of all our fears denies,
the sun will rise,
revealing truths behind the lies.
And so we trust and carry on,
within the rays of each new dawn.
In night’s darkest, we all still know, the sun will rise.

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Another Oviellejo.

dVerse ~ Poets  Pub | OpenLinkNight : Week 120

And Yet I Know…

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I smile as flowers start to grow
But yet I know
The season holds bittersweet sting
Every spring
The air hints warm, yet brings scant bliss
It’s you I miss
These moments when I go through this
This woe is never long to last
And joy of longer days come fast
But yet I know, every spring, it’s you I miss

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Welcome to the Oviellejo

The Oviellejo is an Old Spanish verse form (derived from ovillo, a ball of yarn). A stanza consists of 10 lines, with a rhyme scheme of AABBCCCDDC. The second line of each rhyme scheme, Line 2,4,6, is short line of up to 5 syllables. The last line is a “redondilla,” a “little round” that collects all three of the short lines.

Open Link Night ~ 91

The Life

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6

There’s a moon over Bourbon Street tonight
I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight
I’ve no choice but to follow that call
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all 
Gordon Sumner (Sting) / Moon Over Bourbon Street

Everyone seems to be in easy mode
The corner’s quiet on this autumn’s eve
Despite the first cuts of winter’s cold
It’s happy smiles folks give and receive
Setting a mood that makes me bold
And my protector has me in his sight
On the off chance all is not as should be
And he may have to come rescue me
But I know everything’s going to be all right
There’s a moon over Bourbon Street tonight

Casting a cool light on this patch of street
I start to flirt with some and have my say
But walking in the sun is a different deceit
The base rules change in the light of day
I’m not acknowledged by all whom I meet
I know they know who I am, as they nod so polite
Those men pretending they don’t know my name
And the wives who avert their head just the same
Knowing their husbands are just faces in my night
I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight

Yes, I’m paid for the need of my company
And more often than not, paid quite well
I aim to please after all you see
But I remember when things weren’t so swell
At the beginning of this life for me
Like babies, before I could run, I had to crawl
Now I choose just how my night is spent
But the truth of lies lay evident
When my pockets hold no cash at all
I’ve no choice but to follow that call

For all the company I have I am still alone
And I watch time shorten the length of my employ
I was young when I started and now I’m grown
I slowly prepare for when I’m past giving joy
But tonight, tonight my love’s my own
On nights like this I’m standing ten feet tall
Pretending I’m just like any other in the park
Out on the town for another evening’s lark
Just another guy walking in the leaves of fall
The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all

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Yes, me and my beloved Glosa form again.
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week: 88

Between Goodbye and Hello

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Vettriano 'Back Where You Belong'

Vettriano ‘Back Where You Belong’


Wrapped sheets 

do not his embrace make,

Nor bunched up pillows

His body replace.

Time

Has become

A cruel god

I bitterly worship

As my soul exists

On the dark stretch of void

Named I-80.

Sleep

Has become

An eager lover

That I succumb

To willingly

As it is the only road

That bridges the gap

Between 

Goodbye and hello

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 85

‘Till Next Time

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Each morning I wake up begins with a stare
An urge to see who’ll be staring back at me
Life’s hectic, I’m moving, yet going nowhere
Adrift in life’s ocean, yet so lost at sea
My jammed nerves so frayed to the point of threadbare
Dark circles don’t lie to the mirror I see
I usually manage, to give all my best
The effect of make-up hiding lack of rest

Most days, I can get by, with little fanfare
I’m trying to live past the title of wife
But some morns, like this one, just too hard bear
The last place one think I’d go, to release strife
I’m gallantry trying to right the unfair
When breathing without you, just cuts like a knife
I fall to my knees; bowing my head in prayer
So strong in the love that came so late to life

Sweet serenity falls down on me in there
And I stand now slowly, still with upturned palms
Your presence surrounds, like church bells in the air
Its notes resonating; yes I’ve found my calm
My favorite music, only I can hear
Alone at your crypt I am relieved of fears
I leave and the sun finds me through clouds above
A kiss to the heavens “’till next my love”

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Today’s form is technically three forms into one poem. Welcome to the Sicliano, Romagnulo and Toscano types of the Strambotto.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 84

Letter To You

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To You,

There are several in my life, yet…

I desire only you.

What is it about you that suspends time and makes the universe stand still?

We speak on the inane of comic book characters, television sitcoms and movie trivia with as much passion as we discuss the arcane of politics, prejudice and justice and of freeing one’s mind. It is totally appropriate that the Biblical Book of Numbers holds as much sway in our conversations as the Astrological Book of Numbers.

I lay in bed and it is your voice I hear in my dreams, your touch I feel in my fantasies.

I often wonder, is it the charisma in your voice?

Or perhaps, it is the old soul that I see when I gaze into your eyes. That transports me another time when temples honored Ra and Nut, as the pyramids testified to the rules of Ramses and Hatshepsut.

Maybe it is the gentleness of your kiss introduced upon my cheek when we meet or part…

Could it be the truth behind your words? Perhaps it is the way in which you carry yourself with Dignity, with Pride, with Grace.

Or is it the fierce protector /valiant warrior that I see?

Maybe it is the honest way in which you treat people or the compassion within your heart, even as you chew someone out for nth time for the nth stupidity.

How am I so privileged to be let past the cool exterior to the warmth that you possess?

How am I so doomed to belatedly realize that the hidden warmth is your flame and I am your moth?

I am instinctively drawn to you…

You are: my Sower, my Reaper; my Hercules and my Achilles.

Shit! I’m in love with you…

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This “letter” was a near verbatim entry in a journal, from eons ago.

(Apparently, a) I don’t spell as nicely in my hand-written journals as I do when I type – who knew? and b) at 3:41am (the time noted on the entry), when no one’s looking I am one sappy as all get out  romantic – please don’t tell.)

It literally was the moment I realized I was in love, down to that last line. It made me laugh to read it again, so I had to include it in the post.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 82