.
He wrote in the mornings, she recited to him at night,
He always made breakfast, she made dishes disappear,
His garb was quite frumpy, and hers, made of spun gold,
He struggled with fashion, song birds would dress her,
He thought his poems looked best in moving candlelight,
She made all the fires and lit candles with her eyes.
Once, he was embarrassed and said to her,
'How can you live like this with me in a hovel?'
She said it reminded her of Plato's Cave.
At readings he looked out and saw sinking eyes,
Now he has her read all his poems, it works
Wonders that way, and after-parties are strange,
Everyone keeps staring and asking for her
Name.  She gives cryptic answers and winks
At him.  The poet was running out of words
And thought his days with her were waning.
But she said her heart was kept in a precious
Box of symbols, of words, only he could write.  
She said that it was written in the sky, that poetry
Was dying and that he was the cure.  He told
Her that the stars were lost at night, and fading
While she sparkled unfailing, and many times
They tasted each others tears, many times
The world stopped spinning, he knew
It was her, she felt it was him.  To all
Others, their one bedroom flat was small,
Yet to them, it was the Palace Athene.

No prior warnings,
it has come to visit me!
Minimal luggage,
travelling by expressways,
and greeting all fervently.

I'm to be its host
while it explores all of me,
filling its wants,
leaving me helplessly spent,
cough, cough, hold belly, cough, cough.

Fevered in its lust,
I succumb to ravaging,
held by its power,
with no strength to overcome,
hiding for comfort—cough, cough!

Its visit a mess!
A trail behind it does leave,
my space disarrayed,
imprinting all with its touch,
sore belly held to clean—cough!

This rare visit brings
no joy and puts life-on-hold,
changing its disguise
in hopes of finding new hosts;
open door policy?  Cough!

Tivonna

NaPoWriMo-Day 8
A repetition of word or phrase

People cover up wounds with bandages,
whether it's the littlest paper cut,
or the largest gash all the way to the bone.
They are always covered with bandages,
hidden for no one else to see.

That's what's happening to society
We're all hurting,
whether it's the littlest paper cut in the heart,
to the largest gash all the way to the bone.
But we are forced to cover it up with a smile,
so no one will see we are dying.
You don't realize how people are hurting inside,
all you see is the smile.
And sooner or later,
you will look in her casket and say
"I always remembered her beautiful smile,
I never knew she was hurting inside".

I
When you lace them
it's like you've pulled
your feet into corsets.

II
They sharpen the
vision of an impaired
rink while gliding.

III
The blades look
like they're from a
horror movie.

IV
If they dismantle
soon it won't be
anyone's fault.

V
When they are in
the air some how
they turn to bricks.

VI
Ballet slippers want
to be figure skates
when they grow up.

VII
Your toes wiggle
inside them as if
they're in caskets.

VIII
The blades tell all
your deepest secrets
to the ice in scrapes.

IX
The bows on the tops
tremble like leaves
as you do 3 turns.

X
You can peel the
tongue of the skates
down like a banana.

XI
When all the laces
are down they look
like a bad hair day.

XII
You can take them
off but they feel like
they're still on later.

XIII
So now the figure
skates sit in the closet
with stomachs starved.

Napowrimo 2017 Day 6
Prompt= Write a poem that looks
at the same thing from various
points of view.

Having put George to bed
and after making sure
he was asleep
Polly goes to the adjoining room
where she has the bed
which was once
set aside for guests.

She closes the door
and looks around the room.

It is the best room
she has ever stayed in
better by far
than the room
in the attic
she once shared
with the other maid Susie.

There it was cold
and she had to share
the bed with Susie
who spent a good part
of the night hugging her.

Now she could
sleep in a bed
all by herself
and a bed
comfortable and warm.

She wishes she could share
George's bed as she used to
when he came home
on leave from the War
but now since his return
mentally broken
she can only watch
as he struggles
with his demons
and fears and sights seen.

But if he hadn't been
so attached to her
and imagined she
was his wife
she would still be
in the double bed
with Susie
up in the attic.

She undresses
and puts on
the nightgown
and climbs into bed alone.

She hugs the pillow
and wishes George was there
kissing her
and making love to her
as he used to do
in those stolen nights.

George asleep
in his own bed
sees frightful
and deadly
wartime sights.

A MAID AND HER EMPOYER'S SON IN 1917.

when you find yourself in a land of unspeakable peace

Laugh and release those endorphins
(your minds a chemical soup)

the very essence of you

waiting to be slurped
(and drip down my chin)

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