Tag Archives: OpenLinkNight

Le Petite Mort

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22

You take me
With skill,
With strength
With the power of lust

Knowing what you want
And how to get it

To feel the power of your body
Against mine

Head thrown back, body arched
I feel your warm breath
Against my thighs

Just before your lips
Reach the ridge of mine
I watched you
gently blow
Like a too hot cup of coffee

Your hot breath sliding over me
Feeling like soft silk exposed
Making my body respond with abandon

I sense nothing
But you and the promise
Of your body to mine, taunting me
To think of nothing but

The moment

The moment when my body meets yours
In a crashing wave of exquisite pleasure

The kind that rips
The satiated breath from our chests
Sweet reminders
Of all that was said and done

Making us feel so alive
We could die

Le Petite Mort

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub : OpenLinkNight Week 74

 

The Storyteller

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15

He imagines
So many things
Cabbage and kings
Of shoes and ships

And with a wink
Easily slips
Poetic blips
Of the arcane

Rivers auburn
A mind insane
The odd bloodstain
Can sometimes scare

So he spins words
With utmost care
and takes me there
On crescent waves

Triumphant tales
From birth to grave
And each I save
I know their worth

It’s in his sphere
Of cosmic girth
Welkin and earth
The tales he’s had

And more to come
Verbal nomad
I call him Dad
And my hero

Household legend
But he does know
The seeds he sow
It’s my award

Gaze of rapture
He looks forward
To his reward
When it’s my turn

To tell such tales
Old or modern
Aubades, nocturnes
The moods I’ll bring

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Today’s Form? The Pathya Vat

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 73

Start Somewhere

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8

 I run my days in such haste
No one thought has time to land
Barely having time to care
I must start somewhere

A still pool of water calls
With a dare to simply glance
A tired me shimmers there
I must start somewhere

Natural needs pushed aside
My all to all but me
For the sake of my welfare
I must start somewhere

I free my mind of clutter
Donate a moment to peace
In awe find a moment spare
I will start with prayer

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Today’s Form:  The Kouta

Kouta – KOH-OU-TA (Japanese: little song) A broad classification for several varieties of short songs from traditional to popular which is most often associated with the songs made popular in the pleasure quarters of Edo (old Tokyo) where they were often composed and sung by geisha to the accompaniment of the shamisen.

Kouta has two forms, both four lines. The first has a syllable count of 7-5-7-5, and the other has a count of 7-7-7-5.

dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week: 71

Big Montana Sky

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17


As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
Like I have so many nights before, watching the time carve by
I know that this cattle drive, was worth all the time of the run
But on nights likes these, no nights like these are never any fun

The ambiance of a crystal clear night, I cannot deny
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
But all my thoughts now turn to you, as I watch the campfire
Each flame a flimsy copy, of you when filled with desire

Those jolts of emerald flashes, which herald your fluid moods
How well I’ve learned to read them, the bad, the ugly  and the good
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky
My longing for your touch is so deep, I damn well want to cry

I squeak out a prayer to the heavens, that you still feel the same
Upon my return to you, I shall ask you to share my name
In the meantime, the thoughts of your dew soft skin just get me by
As I lay on my duster, watching the big Montana sky

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Welcome students! – Today’s form is the Quartern.

The quatern is yet another French form. It consists of four stanzas of four lines, or sixteen total lines. The quatern is a syllabic form, meaning that there are a required number of syllables per line. Traditionally there are eight (8) syllables per line (or tetrameter, to those who want to get all technical), but it does NOT have to be iambic!!  (Yes, I took very creative license by using fifteen syllables in  my example above.)

The other trait of the quatern is that there is a repeating refrain, similar to a kyrielle. In this case, the refrain is repeated one line lower in the poem in each stanza until in the fourth stanza it’s the fourth line, like below…

Line 1 (refrain)
Line 2
Line 3
Line 4

Line 5
Line 1 again (Line 6)
Line 7
Line 8

Line 9
Line 10
Line 1 again (Line 11)
Line 12

Line 13
Line 14
Line 15
Line 1 again (Line 16)

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dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 70

Arlington

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14

I walk the rows of the garden
Whispering voices the only sound
Passing by the stark white blooms
Rising from the hallowed ground

And I gaze upon all the blossoms
Row upon row to infinity unknown
Fingers lightly touch this newest bloom
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Each bloom marking lives young and old
Lives that eventually have stilled
Some blooms have seen many an age
Some are as fresh this grave just tilled

A flag waves softly in the wind
Today at half-mast flown
Standing for the one who no longer can
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Scattered about these many blooms
Are others who are here like me
Honoring their own seeds fallen
Into these blooms for eternity

Hand slanted to brow, we are all together
Hand held over heart, yet each all alone
In laughter and tears and memories
Here in the garden, garden of stone

For they are children far too short
To appreciate their own youth
Their spirits grow old far too fast
To live and die with that cold truth

Thus mourning comes, as sure as dawn
In the 21 guns of honor shone
For we who are left behind still grieve
Here in the garden, garden of stone

Arlington Memorial Day

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 69

The Serenade

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4

Joann Bishop - The Guitarist

In the courtyard with his guitar
On a warm and starry spring night
Standing near the glow of lamplight
And sings of love so near, so far

He sings of longing as a scar
A deep wound of internal bleed
A wound of perpetual need
Soft chords wrapped tight in notes blue
A testament his heart is true
Love eternal in every deed

She knows it’s her he’s singing to
She hears each note that bear his pains
Within the blood of her own veins
His longing sears her through and through

For it’s a love long overdue
She’s never known the like before
As it’s his heart that makes hers soar
His tender words gently hold sway
Her heart she’ll give to him always
Lets him and love into her door

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub |  OpenLinkNight Week 67

This Whispering Place

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6

So it has been for many of my years
My dreams do stage all my hopes and my fears

Dreams that come to me when it’s not quite day
Or in the moments before night holds sway

A gale force of winter, a zephyr of spring
Hard as I try, their memory won’t cling
The dreams are but a moment, a most fleeting thing

Leaving just an impression of their core
Hints warning or guidance no less no more

As a true rule of thumb it is not much
But I’ve learned lessons on not heeding such

Never truly day, never truly night
This whispering place between dark and light
So clearly seen to me, but not within my sight

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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 66

Time Drawing Near

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6

‘Aladdin’ and ‘The Little Mermaid’ no longer hold a charm
‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ have lost their sway
The sound of glass breaking, holds not the same alarm
When I could conceive a multitude of frights just yesterday

Macaroni and glitter artwork, stuff that used to be bane
Along with a medal made of paper, in the scrapbook
A box with a bundle of model trains and cars and planes
Memories past, that bellow for a just another look

Emphasizing the second syllable of the word every
The volcano project that was quite a bit unstable
The melted chocolate cookie smile used to distract me
From the crumbly mess left on the kitchen table

The children who couldn’t fib, looking me in my eyes
The kids I couldn’t trust not to burn the toast
The brats who threw a party and told straight-faced lies
When confronted with evidence of their being such gallant hosts

The con-men who know ‘Please mother?’ from ‘Mommy PUH-LEEZE??’
The house slaves with laundry finished and dinner cooked, ready to serve
The hooligans who greet me at the door when I take too long fumbling with my keys
The young men who offer the aspirin, sensing I’ve had a day that tested my nerves

These days I find myself staring a little longer at their faces
And the tones of their voices, to my memory, I try hard to adhere
Some mother’s instinct I suppose, preparing for empty spaces
That once remote chance of their leaving, now drawing near
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dVerse ~ Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 65

Alone Again

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7

 

Her auburn curls were once piled high
Now they hang limply around her cherub face
And no one hears her quiet sigh
She’s just the wallflower, sitting in her usual space

Eyes focused on one across the room, looking awkward
At he who brought her here saying she looked so very nice
She’s since learned that he has won the ‘pig date’ award
Now hanging with the pretty ones, he hasn’t looked twice

It’s a wonderful night for a moon dance
The pleasant thought when she first awoke
So cruelly hoist on their antagonizing lance
Yes, she’s once again the butt of the joke

The deep resignations in her sighs
Belie the tears that sting her eyes

She takes a moment to gather her soul
All the million tiny pieces that shattered
Once again beyond her control
Not that she thinks it ever mattered

Locked in the bathroom, it’s her only refuge
It’s the only peace that she can find
Where she doesn’t feel like somebody’s stooge
The only place she can ease her mind

At times she thinks she hears the means to her end
And knows she’s far too close to its soothing call
It is all she’s got, to not let herself descend
Beyond the point where she feels nothing at all

Some days she fights to keep trying
Some days she feels more like dying

So numbed by the hurt that seems her fate
Against the odds, she stopped defying
The undue stress of those who berate
Each day it is less she finds herself crying

The personification of a silent scream
A switch is flipped with that last tear
As though awakening verse from dream
She emerges soul empty of all once held dear

Back to sitting quietly on the folding chair
Every pleat of silk carefully folded around her knees
But no one really knows or cares that she’s there
Behind thick lens her eyes stopped screaming silent pleas

For it is all such a familiar refrain
In a crowded room she’s all alone again

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dVerse Poets Pub ~ OpenLinkNight | Week 64

In The End

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21

Nights in white satin, never reaching an end
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore
Nights in White Satin – The Moody Blues

We were destiny, as only the stars portend
Two opposite worlds of the equestrian track
You a portrait of its wealth, me a pole post of its lack
An interest in film creates a chance meeting
Our eyes locked in pass of eternity’s fleeting
Despite it all, these two hearts of our transcend
To have had those stolen moments with you
Were worth the obstacles we were put through
Days wrapped in gold sun, a love ascends
Nights in white satin, never reaching an end

Each loving moment together a true Godsend
More so as time lessens the hold on or plight
And we could share our love in the full day light
We were a force leaving all others in the dust
I your earth you know had my complete trust
Your heart a Gibraltar on which I could always depend
It’s beat as familiar to me as the bent of my own
But the familiar sometimes become things left alone
I wrote letters of love, as classic poets have penned
Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send.

In retrospect I would have sent each letter and more
Had I but an inkling of the plans of the fates
By the time we saw your sickness, it was too late
Your health declined with such rapid velocity
The rushes to try any means of medical restore
Introduced a side-effect unplanned
The pain became more than you could stand
A slow fade of the sparkle I had come to adore
Beauty I’d always missed with these eyes before

Somewhere in there came the chorus of rumors
That your fidelity wasn’t quite as strong as mine
One of the reasons for your health’s cruel decline
The last thing I needed was that kind of stress
I saw it as a true meter of others’ nastiness
Like your arrival, your death shook me to the core
I find myself at war with the god’s aggression
That rips from me, my soul’s one possession
In the end I oscillate between faith and rancor
Just what the truth is, I can’t say anymore

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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)