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 Dec 2019 Tammy M Darby
 Dec 2019 Tammy M Darby
For now the winter bites
Breath stolen by the cold fingers
Of the nights frost
Hanging in the still air
We shall return to our motherland
Victoria is the name
Pressed onto cracked lips

Let the fire of saviour burn tonight
As we prepare
For thine enemy shall taste
The cold arrows
Peirce the breast of harlots
As we march

Bear skin warms our back
And norse songs pound inside souls
Of brave warriors
Beneath the silver moon

March march march
Until this land is free again
And we return
To the love of the
Summer angel
the Nth culling
she gentled sleeps besides the imperfect poet,
who has wandered the hallways since four am,

retuning his returning

to their temple bed,
to cull, pluck, her each precious breathing sound,
source material for his
love poem

smirking at his own
Nth foolishness,
weeping tears at the consequences
of human interactions,
he wonders,

why does he worry,
searching to distinguish
between the black and white of life,
hunting for meaningful words

when all the while
he has the vein of her breathing to mine,
as if he were a
following behind
the harvest reapers,
culling a bounty of
dropped grains,
fallen unto him to
garner, imbibe and memorize

those Nth breaths,

that last but seconds,
but here memorialized for
his own
all time
don’t tell me “I love you” ~by Roxanne, for Cyrano~


that’s a verse I’ve heard many too times before,
that’s a curse of low majesty, a quatrain too plain,
if that’s your best sally, retreat, say no more,
too simp verses, or ungolden silences, agents of dissatisfying pain

I need the best of your taste
the finest visions that you eyelids occlude,
make haste for my mouth grows exceedingly
impatient for the other senses to do their tandem wooing

slap only my face with the creature comforts others savor,
words of diamonds and pink pearls mined from your breast,
the bejeweled words that will decorate my evergreen,
that never dies, lest, unless and until,
you want my mortal affection suppressed

give me your linguistic promiscuity, wake me from the stupor
of ordinary, arouse me with thy tongue coiling, a bee sting delivery,
a wet poem that makes all my orifices!|offices weep, your mouth,
my souls recouper,
your wizardry bewitching,
answer my inquiry with unbounded festivity

then and after all, the plain simplicity of an “I love you,”
will be edged with sublimity, my mercies, your mercies
our jointed, sharp pointy, introverting, interlocking,
our futures becoming
our pasts


just as the soft breeze
carries a falling seed 
of the maple tree
to a distant place 
with the sun's warmth 
and a gentle rain 
life sprouts anew
just as love's seed
opens in our hearts
 Sep 2019 Tammy M Darby
In the whispers of earliest morning
and the scurrying tones of nightfall
my mind lies open, vulnerable
like dark flowers cusping spring

With probing eyes, full and brown
I see that which I can realize
yet not realizing what must be seen
that which lies beyond my ocular reach

And with utmost effort, sinking innards
I toil with feelings buried inwards
dissected and magnified
preserved and studied under the light
Beware of wicked women
Especially witches and strippers,
And beware a pair of naked legs,
Shod in ruby slippers.
"Red nails, like roses
Purple fingers, flowering,
Bruises fed to bloom,

The more you let the darkness grow,
the less there is of you."
 Aug 2019 Tammy M Darby
my heart’s so fragile;
i’m afraid to give it away,

all that’s left of me is
a sarcastic personality,
and even that is
starting to fade.
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