The Between

He brings her a bracelet and a bunch of roses
For the fifteen years they’ve been together
She reads the card and the bracelet’s engraving
And something gut deep in her looses its tether
Conclusions once jumped to became solid proof
As Dinah reads his words of love to a Heather

She smiles sweetly handing him a poisoned plate
It’s a slippery slide between love and hate

She’s always been ‘such a good little girl‘
But she was never up to snuff among the pseudo rich
All she wants is to have what all of them have
For kids are cruel to those not matching their niche
Just once she cries, her fingers touch the jewelry case
Filled with a longing so deep her eyes start to twitch

She lets go of the ring and walks away from the site
It’s a slippery slide between wrong and right

A mother gently rocks her new-born babe
The first to come home after many tries
A stray bullet sails through the pastel drapes
And the newborn babe, quickly dies
The husband knows he’s lost more than his child
By the hollow blank stare of his wife’s eyes

And all he’s ever loved leaves this proud man bereft
It’s a slippery slide between life and death

Machines click, whoosh and beep their sounds
His sister copes by force of sheer will they say
But without a transplant, her body deteriorates
And all wonder if she’ll make it another day
They found a match! There’s a thread of a chance
And for the first time in years he kneels to pray

That she makes it as the organ flies through the air
It’s a slippery slide between hope and despair

When he was young it was always “not me”
Even when he was caught red-handed
As he got older the fibs were more creative
Going with whatever the need demanded
All but one he could lie straight in their faces
His truth and lies mixed as he commanded

He said he loved her, but walked away with a sigh
It’s a slippery slide between white and blatant lies

He kisses her cheek, ready to take her home
But he can’t seem to get his thoughts in sync
She feels so good as she leans in oh so close
Knowing she’s had far too much drink
But the scent of her thrills him and she can’t say no
They’re both naked and done before he can think

She never talked, but his own bullet put his guilt to rest
It’s a slippery slide between his love and incest

Hadn’t seen each other since grad school
Where animosities brought love’s ugly rend
Now global businesses made them partners
But will their past uphold or upend?
Their eyes lock as she comes off the passageway
Somehow knowing they’ve regained more than a friend

Two shy smiles first start to grin, then burst into laughter
It’s a slippery slide between good-bye and happily ever after

The between is that space that we hold dear
The whispers of hope in our ear
That susurrus haunting our deepest fear
It can save you from a life of crime
One step further from a life that’s prime
Or straight into the end of your earth’s time

It’s the slippery slides that no one can eschew
But how you handle them? Well that’s up you

====================

Hyde Park – Poets Rally Week 69 (June 7-June 13, 2012)

The Bloom

.
.
I saw this little sprout one day
A sprout like none I’ve seen before
Unique

Rising between a concrete crack
From time to time I would notice
The growth

Against the forces deigned to halt,
Something so delicate and free
It thrived

From spindly bud to luscious bloom
One day it caught my eye and held
Me there

I knew then any further growth
Would need the help of one who cared
Like me

For I then young but determined
Had learned sometimes even the tough
Need help

That I needed this bloom as much
Was revelation in itself
Welcomed

The bloom that grew to be my wife
That watched me grow from boy to man
To hers

====================

Today’s form: Synchronicity

“Synchronicity” (The state or fact of being synchronous or simultaneous; synchronism. coincidence of events that seem to be meaningfully related.). This form consists of eight three-line stanzas in a syllable pattern of 8/8/2. This poetry type has no rhyme and is written in the first person with a twist. The twist is to be revealed within the last two stanzas.

Theme Thursday | Evolution

dVerse Poets | OpenLinkNight – Week 47

Seasons

Seasons



The first day of his smile

Banishing the chill of a late frost

Thus my love comes


On the dawn of the first day

of the first spring

To tend my garden, till the sacred soil

Where the silky folds of my flower blossoms

Gently, widely


As my summer sun also rises

When he gazes past the twin hills

To the valley beyond

Offering the sweetest of nectars

Thus my love comes


To reap that which was so deeply sown

On a harvest moon divine

The fruit of his labor stretched out

Across a starlit ravine

Call him yet home again

Thus my love comes


On the last sunset of the last day

of the last fall


Stoking the hearth warmth

And we rest

The seventh day of my smile

====================
Poetry Picnic Week 37: Peace…

Final Moments…

Tick…………………………

Part dreading, part anticipating.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tick………………

So much time has passed, and yet not enough.
Did I do all I could? Am I now up to snuff?

Part dreading, part anticipating.

Tick……………

Jam packed to the gills, hardly slacking.
For all I’ve done in this time, I still feel a lacking.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tick………

The time before this moment once seemed so vast.
Felt I had forever before this would come to past.

Part dreading, part anticipating.

Tick…

What pays the bills is not how I stay alive.
This globe-trotting heart of mine and this job don’t jibe.
First day back to work after a nice vacation.
I sigh and face the day with trepidation.

I sit here in the final moments waiting.

Tock!

<>==========<>==========<>
Because I go back to work in the morning…

dVerse Poets Pub | POETICS: Workin’ For It

Your Lover’s Touch

Your lover’s touch moving
          soft through my hair

An artist’s touch that feels so real I sigh
The summer breeze teases I tell myself

Sultry memory
          of your being there

I’m floored,
     emotions come without a care
Succumb to your ghost seduction of me
My head lolls with invitation for more

Your lover’s touch moving
          soft through my hair

And then it’s gone,
     heart left exposed and bare
And I reach out, a plea for more, please more
Your absence bane after the ghostly kiss

Sultry memory
          of your being there

Your lover’s touch moving
          soft through my hair

I cry as the wind mocks your touch of me

Sultry memory
          of your being there

====================

dVerse Poets Pub | FormForAll: On Free Verse

Using a villonnet as the source form to break into free verse.

Morning

Lying in your arms, feeling the dawn slowly
mark it way across our bodies
        My head says time to get up
             My heart differs
Gentle stroking, up and down
my spine
touch of gossamer
there… not there
        Warm
              Stirring
Is it real or do I sleep still?
Too real to be a dream, slowly bringing me
from the depths of sleep
         Smooth
              Slow
                   Sensual…
As though a sudden move
would cause me to shatter
I wake easily,
        Knowing the warmth I feel
              is more than the rising sun
I turn to you.
My eyes are closed,
        but I can see your smile,
              feel you surround me.
Your lips upon mine.
        Asking a silent question.
              Receiving a silent answer.

Love me…?
        Yes…
              Oh yes…
====================

OpenLinkNight — Week 46

Bill

His complexion is dark
even more so in the dimness of the night
A smooth polished ebony
what little light there is
playing on the curve and contours
of his wide shoulders
          broad back
               long thighs
                    knobby knees

I know I should have been asleep long ago
          I can’t
there is such a screwball perfectness
to his form in sleep
marred only by
          scars collected over the years
               each one a separate story
                    each one a separate delight

He turns in is sleep and reaches out
I move just close enough to lay within
His reach
his hand slowly slides down my arm
          from the shoulder to the elbow
               to the hand to the fingers resting on
                    my hip and thigh searching

For something
          even he doesn’t realize
               that he’s looking for
I smile to myself
and nuzzle close to him
          feeling him
               smelling him
silently whispering
          I’m here
               right here
                    right next to you

And finally having found
          the something
               only his sleeping soul can find
his hand relaxes
and I feel his body
          go deeper into the sleep
               he never woke from
                    and finally I join him

====================

Thursday Poets Rally Week 68 (May 17-May 23, 2012)

In The Hands

Cloth girds his eyes in loose blindfold
He lays there and conforms as told
To move now would court disaster
He’s in the hand of the master

A maze is stroked across his skin
He holds the urge to gasp within
Warm oils offer scents of aster
He’s in the hand of the master

He seams the pleasure with the pain
The odd brew comfort it contains
One moment slow, the next faster
He’s in the hand of the master

Bordered on pleasure’s dive he moans
And lets escape a fizzled groan
Flesh yields like sinner to pastor
He’s in the hand of the master

A subtle tap sends the message
His hour’s up for this massage
His twinkled grin is now plastered
He’s in the hand of the master

Sore muscles tamed by fingers meek
Sets his appointment for next week
A magic touch like spell casters
He’s in the hand of the master


<>==========<>==========<>

And today’s form? Kyrielle

The French kyrielle is composed entirely of quatrains (a quatrain is any stanza with four lines). There is no set number of stanzas, although generally a kyrielle contains three or more. The rhyme scheme is up to the poet (aabb ccbb ddbb etc. is frequently used), but it must be the same for all stanzas. Also, the last line of all stanzas is the same. Kyrielles generally have eight syllables per line, although this is not a requirement.

Other rhyme schemes for the quatrain could be abaB, cbcB, dbdB, etc… or abbA, accA, addA, etc.. As long as the each quatrain uses the same rhyme scheme, the choice is yours.

dVerse Poets | OpenLinkNight – Week 44

Missing You

Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all
Through the fire, through whatever come what may
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way

“Through the Fire” – Chaka Khan / I Feel For You

Sadness plays on the stereo through and through
Yet I can’t make myself move to turn the dial
Each song gives recollection of the love I once knew
Each song packs a tear slipping past memory’s smile
Another tear drops with the revelation – I’m missing you
For my life, I couldn’t tell you what started it all
Perhaps it was the love that came from up above
A dreamland with the best that we were made of
This was ours – winter, spring, summer or fall
Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall

I see the pictures on the wall, where more memories bestrew
A capture of that infamous “I know something” smirk
That to this day the origins of that one I never did construe
All I can do is once again laugh – God you were such a jerk
Head in hands, I cry through my frustration – I’m missing you
There are times I still turn thinking I heard your footfall
In just that moment forgetting Death’s crow, the cruel thief
For I know I’m imagining things and I’m mad at my own relief
Do I dare think of what I’d decide if choice came to call?
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all

Turning off the stereo, I somehow manage to do
Quoted lyrics so beyond affecting all that I feel
I wonder how long before there’s a call to Bellevue
Because I’m laughing, but Lord knows this pain is real
And the tears flow without cessation – I’m missing you
A twisted part of me wonders the price I’d pay,
What trial to finish, what deadliest path by far
Would it take to uncross that most unforgiving star?
If it gained me but a moment with the Fates to parley
Through the fire, through whatever come what may

No hopes of thinking this bout is anywhere near through
I close my eyes, but it’s really beyond my command
I watch it all just as clearly, caught in memory’s purview
As trapped in this heartbroken tide as love letters in the sand
Cold gripped in the moment’s desperation – I’m missing you
I know I’ll have better ones, but no, not this day
And I gather these precious memories of our past
Even while knowing this is just a mood not long to last
And not finding it in the least wrong to honestly say
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way

====================
Yes, my old friend the Glosa form.

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 43

A Leaf / A Life

Drifting in the wind,

            a leaf.

            Aged. Hardened.

            Alone.

Not here.

            Not there.

Each gust of wind blowing.

            Taking it away, to bring it back.

Only to start again.

Until someone comes.

    Carries it away.

        To a different place.

            Where it is left.

Broken.  Shredded.  Crushed.

Just enough left to notice.

What it once might have been,

When it was still green.

            Lush.

Not taken for granted.

Or left forgotten.

====================

Written after a trip to a nursing home…

Poetry Picnic Week 34: Plants, Creatures, and the Cosmos!!