Category Archives: Poetry

The Summons

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16

Already restless, I had turned to my favored place to seek peace. I had knelt beneath the moonlit branches of the tree, letting nightingale song wash over me, when I am summoned and know not why. I am told his mood is strange. I have but moments to prepare myself, yet not test the goodwill of he who summons. Moonlight shines through the blossoming trees as I ride on the mare provided. Not finding my favorite combs, I hastily extend a hand to snatch blossoms, hoping their beauty compensates. The same moonlight shows the hurried manner of my dress.

The bright moon of night
Shines on all that can help you
And all that can harm

I breathe deep the scent of local flora as I ride along. Perfect gardens seen off in the distance are soothing. The road I travel is not. I knew not the king had returned from his sojourn; let alone have chance to know the cause this distress. The lumps I feel are more than mere nervousness. The not gentle roads jangle already frayed thoughts. My king who places a premium on the upholding of traditions, entrusts me with its upkeep. A delicate balance accomplished too well. Hours spent side-by-side this past year, yet he knows naught. My heart as improper as the lack of grace of a more appropriate attire. The night is as dark as my mood. My beloved moonlight bears me not a cheer.

The trickle of fear
Thorns that can grow sharp within
As well as without

I take in the increasing view of the palace up ahead. Its peaks rise in golden tones as though the setting sun cached its luminescence there for the night and comes now to collect upon rising. My king acknowledges my kneeling by kneeling himself. He kneels! To me! His rough, beefy hand a contrast to my pale delicate fingers. I am shocked by his most gentle of touch – our first physical contact. Ever. An embroidered gown placed in my arms, he bows. He bows! The gown is of a refinement only she who will become queen can wear. Characters of my name intricately stitched within its fine threads. My missing combs, now jewel encrusted, nervously placed on top. And like this new day, it dawns on me. He knows. He reciprocates. All protocol cast aside at our second physical contact ever – our first kiss.

Deep shades of gold sun
Extend like love’s warm fingers
Dawn a brand new day

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Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 33: Fortresses, Castles, Palaces and Royal houses

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dVerse ~Poets Pub | Meeting the bar – the Haibun

Seven Days

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23

On Monday

Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He whispers “Go.”
Thus the first scream begins the life she’ll know
A beautiful baby, that didn’t cry but so much
A godsend, whose parents will raise her as such

On Tuesday

Playing in the yard, one late evening with a friend
She tells of a stranger watching from the dark end
When asked, how did she so young, know what to do
Her answer is, a soft wind in her ear told her to

On Wednesday

White powder fresh on her nose, she smokes a joint
Ignoring voices of convention, but that’s the point
But even as she sits, in the dense herbal haze
She hears the breeze murmuring, there are better ways

On Thursday

Well aware without thesis papers, she’ll repeat the term
She stands with her fellow protesters, convictions firm
Even though the tight handcuffs are starting to sting
Susurrus comforts; she’s doing the right thing

On Friday

Her job, her spouse, her kids, her life
She questions the constant stress and strife
Palms upwards she wonders how much longer
Feels the kiss of a breeze making her stronger

On Saturday

Family reunion surrounded by many a grand
And a few greats who sits while she stands
Some family smirk, knowing she’s in her glory
Soft winds making fresh, her oft told stories

On Sunday

She lays frail in her bed, but she is hardly meek
Her years are many, but she often joked, “‘tis but a week”
And thus end her days, upon this earth to roam
Voice soft as the murmuring breeze, He beckons, “Come home.”

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Entered in:
dVerse ~ Poets Pub
dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 27

Longing For The Feel Of Spring

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8

Crocus buds in snow

I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.
The fresh snowfall does not joy bring;
I want flowers in blush of bloom.

Oh, morning bluebird please come sing,
and chase away the winter gloom.
I’m longing for the feel of spring;
The walls are closing on this room.

As the phoenix’s prayer doth cling,
Of rising from the ashes womb;
I long to escape from this tomb.
Oh, just a glimpse one green thing!
I’m longing for the feel of spring.

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Entered in

Poetry Picnic Week 22:
Spring, Colors, Trees, and New Lives

Sensory

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42

.
.
You like that don’t you?

It wasn’t a question.

The scent of them
Permeates the air.

Their ragged breaths
Ripping
The silence.

Her hot naked back
Shoved
Onto the cool rough wall.

Tasting her
Wetness
On his lips.

Eyes wide open
In the stark pitch black.

She answers anyway.

Yes sir, please!

>========<
Entered in:

dVerse ~ Poets Pub
dVerse Meeting the Bar: Imagism

Aspect

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11

A warm summer’s sunset out on the shore
Water filters sunlight as golden ore
Gently subdued, perfectly cued
To order the beautiful night in store
Evening spent with the one I adore
It sets a mood, but one to brood

I know these are the cusp of summer’s days
Each growing shorter as it gently sways
With each downed sun, into autumn
A sense of farewell drifts upon the haze
And Fall’s aspect settles into phase
It has begun, yes it’s begun

She reaches out and pulls me close to hear
Her former words now ringing crystal clear
Reminded twice, this was her vice
She pushes back and I must face my fears
For the first time ever seeing her tears
That turn to ice, pure drops of ice

A sense of welkin shows before my eyes
As sudden snow storm transforms her disguise
then my heart aches, oh how it breaks
As Winter Aspect clears the stormy skies
And is called to home even while she cries
Each love she takes, she must forsake

Snow Queen

It is their ilk, this temporary quest
It is how each season in turn must rest
Refreshed to be, so completely
To continue to do what they do best
A joy and pain to which they all attest
It’s hard you see, for them as me

She handles her snow mare most expertly
And once she’s proven her veracity
Heads for the sky, darkening sky
And just before she’s out of view to see
Her breathy kiss slowly wafts back to me
Saying good-bye, her last good-bye

Throughout the night, I remain defensive
Before I find reason to her motive
Equally drawn to be loves pawn
I ponder how to go on now and live
But there was one last mercy left to give
As comes the dawn, memory gone
Snow Queen on glacier

Forgive Me

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32

.
.
Forgive me, oh please, forgive me; the error of my ways
The weakness of that failing shall forever mark my days;
Mistakes now seem so bold in the day of light reflected
Easily would have been naught, had all dots connected
Thus to any point other than the one where my mind strays

How was the path intended led so very far astray?
Your sole knight in shining armor tarnished beyond dismay
Wholly destroyed the one love that I should have protected
Forgive me, oh please, forgive me

May sweet mercy be yours to find and grant to me someday
Your heart was never something to be treated so blasé
Never knew that this heart of own could be so affected
Never knew that this deep pain would be the cost collected
Your love was all I had, and I threw all I had away
Forgive me, oh please, forgive me

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Trying my hand at a Rondeau

dVerse  Poets Pub |  Form for All ~ the Rondeau

Come

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3

Come,

You stand before me like
We’ve never been here before
Can’t claim innocence
For we know the score
Go until we’re sore
From ecstasy rife,
Then let the dawn bring sorrow
Or a chance for another tomorrow
Come, your heart wields the knife,
To which I would gladly give my life

Come,

Do you really want to know
Where my mind has been?
Could you handle the truth
Of the amount of sin
Held so deep within?
To make an angel of Lady Macbeth.
Such twisted thoughts alight
Our twisted bodies in the night
Come for just a little death
I want to taste you on my breath

Come,

I didn’t ask for this ride
But oh I do enjoy the rush
Of going from zero the there
At the thought of your body’s crush
Writhing in my pulsing plush
Come, I am a junkie, you are my cocaine
You know how badly I want to mire
Wallow, drown, in the throes of your desire
Come, I’d gladly give my soul’s domain
To be under the heat of your reign

Come.

Day of the Longest Night

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2

Some lament this day, others find nothing amiss
The cold darkness fills with bittersweet bliss
Whether Hanukkah or Kwanzaa lights
Or a Christmas tree making spirits bright
On this day of the Longest Night

Saturnalia calls for yet another repast
Luna beams knowing this feast will last
Comets pirouette in bacchanal delight
Old Man Winter smiles and takes flight
On this day of the Longest Night

I heed the nightingale, not the lark
A natural nocturnal, night give my soul spark
Yes, the months lie ahead to feel winter’s blight
And tomorrow marks the slow fall of the dark’s might
But today is Winter solstice and I’m bundled tight
On this day of the Longest Night

‘Tis The Season

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5

‘Tis the season full of joy
smiles on the faces of every girl and boy

Presents wrapped by the tree, searching for your name
trying to guess the contents – toys, clothes or a games

Singing carols by the fire,
or listening to carolers, outside the door
Not worrying about the last cup of eggnog
knowing there’s more

Snow covering the streets,
adding to the yuletide
I remember when I used to see it all from the window inside

My Christmas fire, is the heat felt through a grate
Though I haven’t even had much of that as of late

A new coat for me is someone’s thrown away old
that I find here or about
The only game I play, is guessing when to leave
before the cops throw me out

I’ve long since given up on the Christmas deal
I count my blessings that I make it to the next meal

The snow covering the streets, freezes me to the bone
for all the shoppers on the street, I sit here alone

Moving from one corner to the next, just to the pass the time
wishing for more than a nickel or dime

I get more dollars than coins these days, for some reason

Oh right, I remember…

‘Tis the season

>===<>===<

Entered in:

Poetry Picnic Week 18:
Snow, December, Winter Vacations & Wildness,

Commute

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22

The subway commute is always an awkward ride
More than an hour of standing with the sweating masses
Somehow managing to remain looking dignified
When buffeted about by strangers’ asses

It’s near winter but the air-conditioning is set to Siberia
And several passengers seem on the verge of hysteria

I risk serious hearing loss by trying to drown out the inane
Cacophony of various mindless teenage chatter
I’d read, but my weary eyes just won’t bear the strain
And a snooze is impossible amid the jostling and clatter

The smell of food on the subway making my stomach rumble
The leftover stench from a derelict rider causing a grumble

Granted, it’s always better when I can find a seat
Unless I relinquish it to someone pregnant or older
And sometimes, I wish I had stayed on my feet
When a strange sleepy head leans on my shoulder

But right now I’m good though the train is again stuck
For I’m conversing with a stranger who is cute as all fuck