I’ll Bide ‘Till Time

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20

A time long since your love I held
A memory that wants to fade
Where an abundance was once held
Reduced to dreams, images frayed

So young our love, this war so stalls
A fortnight wed, in twice passed Falls
In King’s honor I know you serve
But nights lonely, my heart does swerve

My fingers replace not your touch
Though deepest soul can recall such
In shallow dreams that hold your kiss
The gentle roughness of that bliss

Ne’er thought to feel this desperate
I bide ‘till time, returns my mate

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | FormForAll – Basic Sonnet Forms

Daily Prompt: Good-bye

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11

.
Early autumn.

Click.  Click.

He stands in front of the floor to ceiling picture window in the living room that faces the water.  Being near the apex of the hill gives him a nearly unobstructed view of the river, the bridge and the rest of the city spread out before it.  The glittering effect of the sun on the water is as picture perfect as the fluffy cotton candy clouds breaking the monotony of the azure sky above.

He does not see this.

Click.  Click.

The leaves are mostly green, but you can see the first of fall’s leaves on the lawns and sidewalks. A perfectly shaped, beautifully russet leaf lazily drifts from a tree in front of the brownstone to the street.  Even this early in the season you somehow know autumn is going to show off in a blaze of glorious color at its peak.

It does not so much as invite a shrug from him.

Click.  Click.

Children play on the sidewalk or in front yards enjoying the last vestiges of the day. Their occasional high peals of laughter break the relative silence of the late afternoon. It is a good hour before the streetlights come on and another half hour at least before the sun noticeably sets.

He does not notice.

Click.  Click.

The gentle swish-swish, swish-swish of leaves brushing against a window is somehow rhythmic.  It is the same gentle breeze causing the light curtains to sway in front of open windows as evening approaches.  Somewhere down the block just out of the line of vision the happy tunes of an ice cream truck are heard.

But not by him.

Click.  Click.

He has stood by the picture window long after the brilliant red, gold and indigo of sunset have paved the way for the now diamond studded navy night.  The grandfather clock in the front hall again chimes the passing hour.  The stereo is just barely audible above the regular sounds of the house.

The only thing he has heard and continues to hear in his mind is click.

Click.  Click. 

Click.  Click.

Click.  Click.

In reality, each click is no louder than of that of an old-fashioned typewriter key strike.  For him each is as loud as a cannon blast.

The sound of stiletto heels clicking against a marble floor of the foyer as they walk out of the door and his life.

Good-bye.

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Daily Prompt | What A Twist!

Of Dreams

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3

Eyes closed I drift into the sweetness of your arms
A something felt just beyond the soul’s breach
Not quite right, but yet I feel no qualms
All I want, just within heart’s reach
Contentment that causes sighs
Then life beckons to me
I open my eyes
Reality
Rips the seams
Of dreams

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And today’s form? A nonce form called  Emotive Ten

The form describes some form of emotion and has ten lines, the only restrictions are it’s syllable based.  It starts with twelve and throughout the poem works down to two; it should also describe usually an emotion in paradox, i.e. life to death, loneliness to love, light to dark etc.


If rhyme is used it must go with the syllable count in numbers and rhyme in letters:

12A, 10B, 9A, 8B, 7C, 6D, 5C, 4D, 3E, 2E

An alternate rhyming suggestion is a/a/b/b/c/c etc. The form can also be done in reverse, still ten lines, but starting out with two syllables and ending with twelve.

dVerse Poets Pub ~ OpenLinkNight : Week 61 

Long Fallen

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9

Painting of street worker

It’s Autumn, where the verdant leaves turns gold,
And goldenrod leaves quickly become old
And those old leaves soon become just like me
Something broken and crushed, something empty
Long fallen from the grace it used to be

Hard to believe, less than eight years ago,
I think eight, I’m not sure, the years blend so
My employer came to me one down time
And said I wasn’t pulling in the dimes
I’m a utensil that was past my prime

That as such made me particular waste
And was let go from employ with due haste
Youth started its slide from my once young face
I knew the rules, there was no pleading case
No chance of rescue in this youth built place

I started at fifteen, oh such a knave
But had a knack for knowing clients’ craves
I worked there before I had license to
Attained status, before my year was through
This job was all I ever knew to do

The cache of being ‘personal escort’
I never knew a life without support
That cache provided me some global treks
Spinning clients through my erotic hex
And I won’t lie; I damn sure loved the sex

I joked this job was custom made for me
Their faces at the point of ecstasy
And as conversant in Sun Tzu as Mr. Magoo
My clients soon found out I had smarts too
And for the price, little I would not do

Out lasted many who’ve come through the door
Damn lucky to be there at fifty-four
But like my concaved waist, it couldn’t last
My job choices were very far from vast
Don’t have much future because of my past

I’m offered some dinky job on the side
But I still had a little too much pride
To be a has-been hanging on the scene
I remember how I treated has-beens mean
When I once ruled the roost as its main queen

I’m treated like someone they’ve never known
When I tried to hold some clients on my own
With individual contact of each
A beat down was the last lesson left to teach
That everything I had was out of reach

I’ve gone from elite, to stripper, to street
Where I fidget on very tired feet
Jumping from each nameless and faceless mate
Wondering just which day will seal my fate
The seasons are my only notes of date

And it’s Autumn again the leaves turn gold,
Slowly turning other colors they grow old
Long fallen from the place they used to be
What time has washed away past their glory
And then die, a cruel metaphor of me

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ Poetics: Autumn Chill is in the Air

Ravished

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6

Across a crowded room, his eyes catch mine
Eyes half-hooded by mood lighting, half-hooded by wine
He’s careful not to glance, but for a moment pass
And I equally engrossed, by the drink in my glass

Our paths cross but briefly, among the dancers on the floor
We smile, have a polite greeting, step away and nothing more
It’s a moment over faster than a thunder’s boom
Before we’re back to hooded glances across the crowded room

But this time he doesn’t waver, he lets his eyes penetrate
I grasp the wall for some support, under the glare of its weight
Mesmerized by his power, I realize I am no match
Before I feel him deep inside me just as my breaths catch

I pretend to nod to music heard above the party’s din
But it’s really to the throbbing of his pulse felt within
Eyes closed my body tingles at the unexpected bliss
I feel the warmth of his breath release with mine in a hiss

Guided by steady flickers of strong and tender fingers
That flitter across points enflamed with a teasing linger
My eyes fly open in a flash, just all time slows
Across the room I see him nod and wonder if he knows

Has there only been a passing of a few heartbeats
That took me from the curious to the nearly complete
He stands with his smile knowing, while I stifle down a moan
And leaves me there in throbbing passion, ravished by his eyes alone

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Hyde Park Poetry | Poets’ Rally Week 72 (September 5 -12, 2012)

 

The Perfect Poet Award Poetry Rally Week 72 – Ravished

Perfect voice in an imperfect world
Muse pulls prose from words swirled

I nominate the wonderful poet  Heaven.

Memories of You…

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5

The air moves so softly, against a gossamer sky
The soundless grain of sand, time slowly passing by

You’ve been gone so long, and yet I still felt you near
A vivid burst of memory, which stayed so sharp and clear

I felt as though I could still feel the touch your hand
As we did those last days, along the river’s sand

With your arm draped around me, against the wind’s surge
You made me vow to go on, I heard your plea’s desperate urge

Walking barefoot, our toes gently grazed by the water’s edge
I knew by holding these memories I was breaking my pledge

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

Once the symptoms set in, we simply set sail
Living large in the mesh of time left to our avail

You my knight, said I was a star; a spirit like mine must glow
And once Valhalla called, your wishes I tried to bestow

I tried, honestly tried living within the masquerade
But without you, I grew dim, even stars sometimes fade

My prayers were a narrative, a psalm, a song, a prose
On the ridges of sanity, I’ve tried everything I suppose

With both compliments and curses in my phrases
I’ve damned and pleaded with the deities in phases

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

I would chafe at any attempt to ease my pain
As I laid your sword to rest, upon the grassy plain

I was jealous of the wind that could still touch you
With a heaven between us, it was more than I could do

The winds were your caresses, the gentle rain your kiss
And in the cold of winter, it was your arms that I would miss

That held me so close and warm against the night’s chill
I purposely slept uncovered, if you couldn’t warm me nothing will

I found comfort only in memories pretense
A pose of happiness at my soul’s expense

It was past time to release,
My deepest heart knew
But I just couldn’t let go
Of these memories of you

But then one memory crept out for sun
Shinning light on the truth of what I’ve done

The very last gift you had given to me
Before the Odin called and set your soul free

As long as I didn’t think about it, then alive you would stay
But the base of that lie could no longer hold sway

And I smiled, really smiled in a sudden release
Memory of a crown of daisies finally gave me peace

The air moves so softly, a gossamer sigh
A soundless click of time, saying goodbye

It was now time to release,
My deepest heart knew
Now I know I can go on
Even with these memories of you

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dVerse Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight ~ Week 60

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

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As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part…

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Witty Words

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I enjoy a wild wit, words well at play
Second guessing what a person did say
A well-placed pun lifts the heaviest day

Double entendres while away the day
Innuendos of course come out to play
Expressions telling more than what they say

“I never know what you’re going to say!”
Will bring forth a smile to me any day
My mind’s a thesaurus at constant play

Witty words at play, I say, make my day

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dVerse Poets Pub | Form For All –  On Trintinas

this moment

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5

He takes a moment to stand by the window and gaze out at the morning before him.

Coming out of a good stretch, his arms are extended wide, his hands grasping the window frame in a casual lean.

The floor to ceiling windows engulfs his nude form in sunlight, giving him an ethereal aura, an other-worldliness punctuated by the horizontal slats of the open Venetian blinds.

Momentarily oblivious to all around him, he is living art work of shadow and light.  I’m afraid to so much as breathe too deeply or quickly for fear the sudden displacement of air will travel the distance between us, disturb him somehow and thus break this moment.

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…Just putting a memory to pixel…

For While She Weeps

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14

 

For while she weeps,
Sorrow keeps as
pain sweeps her heart.
Torn apart as
it thwarts the chance
to romance the
soul’s dance that’s stilled.
Passions killed by
tears spilled in ache.
Spirit breaks. It’s
a snake that crawls,
As it sprawls there
then squalls and rails
driving nails, it
assails heart’s halls.
But it falls hard
Soon all hurts slow.
Pain will go, and
she’ll know – she’s free.

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This is a Than Bauk form.

The Than-Bauk is a three line “climbing rhyme” poem of Burmese origin. Conventionally a witty saying or epigram, it’s even shorter than a haiku, but a lot more structured. Each Than-Bauk is three lines of four syllables each with the rhyme on the fourth, third and second syllables of each line respectively.

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. O.

Than-Bauks can be chained together to form a longer poem where the last syllable of the third line starts the rhyme of the next…

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. b.
O. O. b. O.
O. b. O. c.
O. O. c. O.
O. c. O. etc.

or you can “staircase” them…

O. O. O. a.
O. O. a. O.
O. a. O. b. 

O. O. O. b.
O. O. b. O.
O. b. O. c. 

O. O. O. c.
O. O. c. O.
O. c. O. etc.

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight – Week 59