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ALY Jan 2013
how does a dreamcatcher know which
    dreams to catch?
what if it
swallows the good ones
and sneaks them off to another
    reality?
what if it
holds the bad hostage
to share at the most dreadful
     time?
           what is time to a dream?
but just look at how it twists
and ties itself in knots so
    beautifully
a community of individuality
cinching simplicity together to form
   brilliance
a spiderweb of spirit trapped between threads
strung tight like the ties of
   fate
showing me reality
far beyond
what we blindly
    see
    inspiration
    appreciation
absorbing the vibes reflecting off
questions of whether a second
                         is time to a dream?
unrecognized reality
mind outside of body
    sensory
    overload
a breath of fresh
light
a taste of foreign
thoughts
the touch of a
music note
and a vision of
    love
trickling quiet
tears down the
face of
                   time...to a dream
truth
can dance on the
    edge of reality
so when i wake up screaming open my eyes and
see
my mind momentarily remains
tangled in a realm of
    reality once removed
feathers floating softly
through worlds yet to be
unfurled
but shadows through breezy windows left ajar
blow my thoughts back to
    now
and the sounds
and sliences
and the colors
and expressions
of my mind
are altered
by a bombardment
of influences
out of control
reality
can be difficult to
embrace
now and
again
we must
    escape
                 to a dream
to contemplate the
    impossibly
intertwined strings of
eternity
    that
  spiral
through
and through
tossing and
turning new leaves
as the seasons cycle
time remains immeasurable
lest by our mere
      thoughts and ideas
so we
create
a geometrically
stunning display
of unspoken hope
to catch
                      a dream
and it hangs by the window
and if  the
truth
teetering on a tightrope
between worlds
could speak it
would tell of
endless
possible
imagination
where
dreams
are
reality
and there is
no such thing as
                               time
judy smith Oct 2015
She's been enjoying her time while living and working in London.

And Nicole Kidman was clearly thrilled to be one of the star guests at The 60th Women Of The Year Luncheon & Awards in the British capital on Monday afternoon.

The 48-year-old actress - who is currently starring in West End play Photograph 51 - cut a beautiful figure in a multi-tonal lace dress as she arrived at the prestigious event, held at the InterContinental London Park Lane.

The willowy beauty covered her slim figure in the mid-length dress, made up of several different lace panels in pale lilac, purple, yellow, black and white.

Cinching in at her slender waistline, the dress billowed out into a full A-line skirt, and also included long sleeves.

A Victoriana-style high-necked black lace section finished off the gorgeous garment, giving her a serene, ladylike air.

The Australia actress teamed the eye-catching dress with a pair of strappy black heels with pointed toes, and a tiny black box clutch.

Her pale red locks were swept back into a chic updo, her mid-length fringe framing her face.

The actress' bright blue eyes were highlighted with just a touch of mascara, and her beauty look was pulled together with a pretty pink shade on her lips.

Nicole was one of many star guests at the annual central London event, held to honour amazing women across all industries.

The famous event, which paid special tributes to six remarkable women from all fields, saw plenty of other star guests in attendance, with 400 in total at the luncheon.

After rising to fame as the winner of this year's The Great British Bake Off, Nadiya Hussain was one of the star attendees at the highly-significant ceremony.

The talented baker and busy mum, 30, rocked a simple and chic ensemble of slim-fitting black trousers and a crisp blue blazer, and bright turquoise heels.

Another familiar face was singer/songwriter Katie Melua, who opted for a cool androgynous ensemble.

The Call Off The Search hitmaker showed off her lovely long legs in a pair of black leather trousers, teamed with a sheer white blouse, a blazer and a cute black ribbon ******* around the collar.

Writer-comedian-actress Meera Syal rocked a typically unconventional ensemble as she arrived, cutting a striking figure in a bold patterned shirt dress with a lovely long black scarf and a jacket thrown over the top.

Princess Diana's glamorous niece Lady Kitty Spencer channelled a power-dressing 1980s vibe in a standout black shirt dress with bright, colourful buttons donw the front.

The pretty blonde finished her luncheon look with a chunky white clutch bag and perspex heels.

Choreographer and former Strictly Come Dancing star Arlene Phillips was a chic addition to the guest list in a figure-hugging red dress, and TV presenter and journalist Julie Etchingham wowed in an understated taupe dress with an origami-folded skirt and matching cropped jacket.

Also in attendance were the likes of Dame Esther Rantzen, TV's Lorraine Kelly - who was glorious in a gold lace frock - Maureen Lipman, Mary Nightingale, Jo Brand and

The Women of the Year winners were whittled down and chosen by a panel of notable, accomplished women: Sandi Toksvig CBE, Sue MacGregor CBE, Dame Tessa Jowell MP, Baroness Doreen Lawrence OBE, Jane Luca, Ronke Phillips, Eve Pollard OBE, Lisa Markwell, Gill Carrick and Sue Walton.

And viewers of popular morning programme, ITV's Lorraine, were also able to vote for their Inspirational Woman of the Year via a phone poll.

Sandi, President of the Women of the Year Awards, said: 'Women of the Year has celebrated the wonderful achievements of women since 1955.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/mermaid-trumpet-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth
SE Reimer Aug 2016
~

in the seasonal divisions of life,
is one equation most oblique;
the only ’rithmetic i know,
where sum of two in equal parts,
as one and one makes two a whole;
yet even more is this unique,
for ’tis the after-math and struggle,
the dance of life that matters most;
the after-candles, songs and marches,
the after-promises and vows,
after-gifts and floral arches,
after-dancing, cake, and toasts;
when gritty feet meet dusty road,
where those content to sit, jump out,
and those who chose the work, dig in,
here is where the after-math begins.

where spoken word and actions,
the blend of individualities,
smelting of their personalities,
when lovely couple’s faces,
no longer picture-perfect,
where smiles frozen turn to icy stares;
when agreement turns to disagreement,
and enchantment, disenchantment;
when to each the other is,
persona non grata...
a most unwelcome sum;
persona incognito...
hidden truth to everyone;
persona invisibilia...
game of hide and seek;
persona silentium...
"you can’t make me speak!"

yet all of this could just as easily be,
the sum of two,
grateful hearts in equal parts,
the beat of two in rhythm thrum,
march in time upon one drum;
where stumbling toes find eager feet;
back-handed words are gently turned, to
two-hands-to-back, a press,
on tiptoe, a softened kiss;
where hard-pressed, unkind learnings
are equal matched with kind forgivings.

e pluribus unum...
building block for nation,
works beautiful for couples, too!
’tis the only one i know,
defies the odds to work,
defines how two can grow,
turns tear-filled words to fireworks,
makes winning out of winters cold;
turns wincing into cinching,
knots that is, joined and tightly tied,
before two hearts have grown too old;
this then here, the after math,
a two-cords-tied-as-one accord,
blending melody with harmony,
production of a music-making,
ovation-worthy, heartbeat song;
a two-in-one, two-for-one,
two-as-one with rich reward;
sum of love for lifetime lasts,
perfect kind of after-math!

~

*post script.

a wedding this week came and went, but left this minder in its wake, hard beating in this mind as my body woke, begging for words in ink, pleading to be let out.  in marriage, my own is far from perfection, as am i, yet as close to heaven as i have known here on earth. do believe that i know that it cannot be just one; but takes two hearts, two wanting, two hoping, and two forgiving, to make one that lasts!
she is by far the more so in ours.
Wanderer Apr 2012
Inside my throat expands under water mountain ranges for miles
Sea salt love affairs dance across shell pink lips
Telling all of Poseidon's secrets through drift wood bonfires
I love you
Parts are missing so I gather bits and pieces close
Always in need of more cosmic adheisive to keep you here
Stalwart and worthy your effigy stands carved of whale bone steel
Starry night sky corsets cinching our tied tongues together

We once had a name, a place
Desires and wishes flooded the air between us
Now it's just me constantly rowing against the current
While you glide smoothly ahead riding the trough
I have storm clouds hidden in my sunshine smiles
****** pearled laughter stifled and worn
Too tired to see the nautilus of my thoughts dragging me under
Adam L Alexander Jun 2010
Rippling tide of light (the) horizon a mélange
Insight inside of me (my) fastidious internal ******
Behold breath-taking beauty (in) my minuscule mind
Fathoming unfathomables (of) every different kind
Magnanimous mount (in a) flowing green sea
Mustang must muster (the) strength to stay free
Battling rages inside (this) heavy hearted fool
Lasso cinching fate (our) human nature’s cruel
Taken from the wild (then) taken home and named
Though this horse was broken (she) was never tamed
‘’We’re running in circles in the night and we will be by the fire devoured’’

This gnawing fire ardently feeding on our weak bodies since the idle bird of our soul was tortured by the rebellious death, and debased if any occult alliance was giving indulgences away, it would be ******, sullied by several sins and it would desperately date a demon despite the dreaded consequences: The forces of Darkness would be dressed in their bacchanal breeches their crowns tainted by their fanciful sets cinching on sordid sanguinary dances in a tremor hearts and hearths in unconverted sets the demon’s sap, onto which would flow the alabaster lymph of the nymph, in an orgiastic horror my senses secede from this union of leeches and leave this macabre theater…

Towards angels, divine messengers, I turned my eye when, alone in the mystical night I screamed from my inner rings they let me touch an aura in a flurry of wings bathing in this fountain of youth, river of the rare ragweed in the radiance of a ray, they appear, one will prophesy the celestial might of their powers, in the new day’s seed.

Oh dear cherub, now recedes the sweet veil of my vision off my tired eyes sliding in the wind when the morning sighs trapped during my lethargic battle late at night, by evil sylphs, life’s harshness ruthlessly hangs onto me with no ceasefire. As I am struggling, if I could only cling onto the coastline, I inquire, of my childhood’s lake…Like a fainted fairy, they plan my annihilation…

“Say my soul, if you were sent before the gates of a double infinity towards which would you hold out your limp limbs, say it please, between Hell’s chaos and Heaven’s inner peacefulness would you choose the Devil or God’s eternity? To whom would you alter your altar and to whom would you give your night? Answer me! Test the shapeless orb of your entity, you know that nothing will leave this room under a candlelight. And nothing will be known, so wiggle with ease. “

‘’I would kiss love, I want to hear neither about the Arcadia or Styx
I want a seraph, would it be blessed or cursed that I would love and cherish.’’ ‘’Oh my soul, such a nice undertake, you would submit to another type of torment thus I say: There is no other painful path when declining, I will blemish your dreams… Love love to death and you will let yourself die- you cannot fix this: Love, when hell tortures you closer and closer to the edge, will tear you appart and bring this pain to the firmament and I would not call this a pleasurable privilege.
-1   Vergil’s palindrome.
bobby burns Jan 2015
():
you've taken up too many characters,
a placeholder, 0, is all i attribute to you.

(I):
i lack recall enough
to call back when
we first reacted--
science fair, maybe,
mâche volcanoes
from wet bits--
(too little base,
a surplus of vinegar)
the only magma
with measurable
pH

(II):
made cattle to caffeine,
the pastures we frequented
have gone out of business
by now

(III):
spoke and wrote
with silly string,
messy, childish,
hard to clean up--
impossible to pick
every adhesive trace
from tweed coat fibers--
i draped it around you
and left quietly without
apologizing

(IV):
number four, morphine drip,
corruption (with a caramel center),
you took me to a courtyard where
you had scrawled your number
with a gold safety pin stuck
in the grain--
didn't matter as long as they
brought you plain grain beverages--
i can't say how long i must have
been unconscious for you to
have been able to fully affix
trusses, crossbars and artificial joints
between prostheses--
you made a marionette of me
in a grubby alley operating room,
with an empty bottle
across the occipital for anesthesia,
and a patchwork of phone numbers
staring down from the scratched
portrait in the wood walls
of office buildings surrounding--
keep your cloths on a little longer
keep yourself closed from now on
keep yourself close from now on


[V]:
think of whichever oath you hold
gravely, and think of me, promising
i felt just as illusory as you before--
saved a letter from you i read sometimes
to remind myself how first real loves
can be, so as not to lose faith to cynicism,
and cynicism/stomach lining to coffee grounds.
thank you

[VI]:
i met you only once,
it was enough.
i didn't make out your
last name as you introduced
yourself between zipping up
your fly and cinching your belt,
and even while you walked
inside, between dry heaves,
i could think only of
your Texan-tinsel-town namesake--
good luck streaming the past like
mother's ashes from the back of
your lake boat so many miles from home,
it's all anyone could ask

(VII):
i took that polaroid of you;
you had your hand over
a candle flame and the
shadows dancing between
your fingers illuminated
the spare patches of snow
remaining on the playground.
there was no mistaking
the draining of my swimming
pool of ego as i witnessed
you staring out from each
ice crystal reflection in awe:
your smile tumbled down
the slide and spilled into laughter
while
your voice lilted up the rock wall
and sang in triumph at the top --
i miss you, ganges girl

[VIII]/[IX]:
first time i knew,
second time i suspected,
finally broke me down,
now we laugh about it,
or preferably, don't bring
it up anymore

[X]:
i might still be in love with you
first and foremost, if that's how
things worked, but virginity
isn't a collateral asset, you did
me no favors,
but share in sunshine shoves
and pushes-- a beer down,
3g 'til the bottom of the bag,
alice and wonderland--
i can't watch that movie
without thinking of long hair,
self-destruction, self-deceit,
and naïveté--
you made me grow up with you,
and while you've been in college
i've been rotting.

[XI]:
i've whiled away a year of slacking words
in favor of those spouting from you torrentially.
a placeholder, for people i've written too much about already:
11.

[XII]:
unnerved me in the best of ways,
but you were always ****** up
and emptied of scruples--
had me once at your favorite album,
fooled me twice when you came back,
but you won't get another chance to
touch me

[XIII]:
snow-flakey,
corn comfort,
corn snake.
solid, supple,
untrustworthy.

[moscow]:
you spent a year abroad
so i had only one thing to call you,
and even though I brought my black
camo S&W; pocketknife,
when you told me ******
was cheaper than marijuana
in the motherland,
i knew i shouldn't
have soothed myself
into confident
complacency,
and instead
leapt from
the subaru
piled high,
tobacco-strewn,
littered by cremations
of victims before me.

[XV]:
i yawn and jaws part,
droop down lids,
the realist rendering
of a singularity in film
can't even keep me awake--
but when we get home,
and crawl into the satin
cascade of your mother's
sheets, god, i can't
even think of sleeping.
the moon was also full--
it wanes for awhile now
Grame Rabbit Mar 2015
In semitones it sang its morning song:
With perfect intonation did it sound
Each pitch-pure shaft of tone to richly confound
The staccato, choppy, chirpy, cheepy throng.
After this phrase of notes sung clear and strong,
A cadence-closing burst of trill unwound,
Shaken out taut and cinching, fast and round,
That lasted to the pure tones doubly long.
More beautiful singing I have never heard,
And yet was I inclined to doubt its worth.
I silenced my mind and listened to the earth,
And this was in the singing of the bird:
If all the world will be the way it is,
Be thankful for the bird that sings like this.

^ ^
this is fairly long and has ****** content*

I awaken in a dark room
Moving, I realize I am bound
WHAT THE ****!!!!! ( screams in my head)
I struggle, realizing freedom is not forthcoming

A gag soaked with saliva blocks the voice
what is going on
last memory is of friends at a fetish event
Thinking of everyone there trying to remember
Anyone that might have turned on the red signal

All were in masks
None seemed out of place
How did I wind up here
where the hell IS here?"
Wiggling fingers that send angry pin needles
Through the arms

Knowing it has been awhile since these bonds were done
People at the event were friends
Headaches like it had been drugged or hit
Thoughts run through my head, like buffalo on olden day prairies
What is going on?

Praying someone will miss me
Doubting that as I am known as the loner
Ice kitten  the name that described me best
Especially with interpersonal relationships
**** me who would do this?"

Deep cleansing breaths He used to say
Concentrating on One from the past to try and calm myself
Heartbeat pounding against the rough rope
Surrounding very ample ivory globes
Though by now the rose blushed tips upon white would be a cyanide blue

The door slams open hitting the wall
Cleansing breath almost chokes me
Deep baritone says I see you are awake ****
Mumbling loudly against the gag
Tingles roar throughout my body

Air whispers across me
Realizing that flesh is exposed to God only knew who
Further enraging the senses, I begin struggling anew
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Sound reaches my ears before.....
"OHH ******* hell" I scream out (although only I understood the words)
Fire slices across my ***
The wind kisses it as liquid trickles down the crack of the ivory half moons

Breathe girl Breathe
I keep that mantra going
Still trying to figure this out
Black lines streak my face
Lightning still touches my ***

Large fingers pinch the striped part of bleeding skin
Nose stopped up from crying as each breath is labored
Body squirms as the hand massages the heat
That baritone voice strikes a chord deep in my belly
His words are not heard at first which elicits a slap to the exposed thigh

******* in air causes a weird snapping sound
The hair on arms stands as he repeats the missed words
"Are you a good **** or a bad one?".
Go to hell is the first response that spits against the gag
Tsk tsk tsk he responds, the tone sending spirals of heat
radiating out from the belly

Something in His voice awakens the submissive fire that has lain dormant since the One left
That wretched gag is finally removed
Gulping in as much air as I can
Praying that cloth will stay free
Though the power of sight is still deprived

"Who are you?  What do you want with me?  How di
Large hand suddenly yanks hard upon long tresses of flame
Silencing my questions quickly
The voice that reverberates through the bound flesh states in a hushed tone
" If there is something I wish for you to know it will be so."
"If you understand nod your head"
Barely nodding as hair was still caught in a vise grip

Thoughts and feelings scream through my mind
Wanting out of here my mind screams as my body betrays the protest, the racing heart, panting breath, as well as the moisture building between swollen petals
What was I to do?  The more he spoke the wetter I became

Clanking sounds fill the air as the ropes are attached to a chain, I feel binds cinching tighter in places and loosening in others.  Fire roars throughout as blood surges and circulates
Moans escape chapped lips a new fear coursing within
Cringing as I await for the next reminder I have done something that displeases Him

The roughness of rope glides abrasively as more flesh is revealed.  Crying out as needles stab where blood returns
Teeth sink hard into plump lower lip biting back any noises
His hand touches my face gently
Jerking away reactively, regret releases a tear then another

The same gentle touch turns severe as something cold snaps down on the taut ******

Tasting blood as once again I try to block any noise from escaping my lips, again another snap comes down against
the other ******,
Back arches as sounds of pain escape
Every muscle draws tight waiting for his displeasure to be made clear

His voice coos a soft deep tone in the ear
Gasping as warmth spirals outward through my body
Arms pulled high above crimson curls
Secured as a squeak sounds as curves are stretched
First one foot then the other is separated and captured
The leather closes around each ankle

"I asked you earlier are you a good **** or bad?"
Mind reels as his voice sends waves of heat through me
Afraid to speak I wait, barely breathing
Sudden pressure then pain fills throbbing *******
Crying out "Good, I am good Sir!"
Something wet and cold surrounds both burning *******
The pressure releases

"Yes yes I know you are a good girl"
My lips form the words but my mind shuts down that action fast.  
"I bet you wonder why and how you came to be here?"
Nodding elicits a "good girl, I see you are learning quickly."
"This pleases me that you have not forgotten"

My mind searches the voice, the smell, and mannerisms
Something familiar but what
Hands suddenly seem to touch everywhere at once
Soft mews fill the air
His hands play my body like they belong
Fear gone chased by pain mixed with pleasure

Strips of leather kiss the arched back
Over and over, every millimeter of flesh is struck
Hands pull tight upon restraints
Air caresses moisture drenched thighs
Another implement of leather begins to alternate with the first

Pounding skin leaving behind red streaks of heat
Mind reeling at the intensity
Never having felt this before, or have I?
Tears soak flushed cheeks
The whistle of the flogger being flicked just before striking
Knees buckle throwing weight on shackled arms

No longer does the ability to reason exist
Only the moment
My body singing to the Flogger's tune
Most people would not understand this feeling
Driving upward from deep within
Each strike pushing higher

Perspiration covered hair stuck to my face and neck
Seems like this has gone on forever
Pressure building, body burning
Yearning for that pinnacle
Fear replaced by need
Thoughts replaced by desire

The tails touch grows harder, less rest between
Bursts of breath catch in my lungs
Suddenly all is still
Right at the edge of exploding
Nothing, except pounding in my head
Throbbing **** and electric fire all over

"You will *** for Me ****!"
His voice out of nowhere makes me jump
Resending exquisite pleasure mixed with something
hotter,
"Yye yes S ssSir" seems to trip from someone else's lips
One fluid motion so fast

Hands fall from above fiery curls
A firmness is pressed against my abdomen
Hair flows down as blood rushes into cheeks
No time to come down from the licking flames
His hand cups the curve of my ***
Jumping away from the hand seems like a sucker punch to my stomach

Smack! Smack! Smack!
Repeats over and over
Hips jump left then right, up then down
The heat roars through the half moons
His breathing is labored
Seeing the crimson color wash away Lilly white
Writhing beneath His hand

I hear screaming, pathetic cries
Release building as moisture becomes running wetness
Nothing coherent any longer
Just flames of heat and need
Fingers invade my soaked petals
Quickly gripping my swollen pearl
Squeezing and twisting as one word makes it through the chaos
"***!"

Reason be gone I did
Harder than ever in a very long time
Letting go of the frigidness
All the anger, tension, sadness
Spiraling out with that release
Bucking against His hand, the bench beneath me
Hoarse screams fill my ears
Still unable to figure whose

He squeezes and releases the pearl over and over
Each time striking my core
Body juices flow like water down my thighs
Tears follow down my cheeks as lips taste the salt
I feel His fingers release my ****
Gasping for air to fill my lung
Exhaling harshly as His jeans push against my raw ***

Muscles tremble as I realize it was my screams
My hoarse voice, blushing as the entire situation unfolds
Nothing left, emotions spent, strength sapped
His body pressing into mine as fingers pull the blindfold free
Unable to see Him still
He pulls my hair up and emerald greens catch a glimpse
"Oh my God!"  Trembles begin anew as flesh aches
"It can't be." I begin to struggle

Every move drags materials over raw skin
He waits for everything to catch up
Turning me over, bound hand press against His chest
Eyes still closed denying sight of what is truth
Arms of steel lift me up, flushed skin marries a cool sheet
That gentle touch returns to cup my face, thumb pushes away the tears

Opening my eyes, finally meeting His grey ones
A million questions bounce around my brain
Soothing voice says "in due time Mine in due time"
The One was back, why, how and all the other questions had to wait, for now He was back
Feeling the warmth of His fingers massaging lotion into my skin, each mark rubbed well

A loving kiss placed to my lips
My body covered in a cocoon of comfort
He was back
My world was right again
Eyes closed as I drift off to sleep
Last thoughts praying this was real and not a dream
An exquisite dream it would be but needing it to be real

Leaving you all to ponder if when I awaken
Is He with me?
Or
Did I dream a wicked night of delight?


Written by Jennifer Humphrey. All rights reserved
R Saba Dec 2013
red
i felt like wearing red today
like a streak of lipstick
or a drop of blood
among the grey air
and the blue snow
i just wanted to make it known
that i was alive today
in my crimson cloud
in my scarlet shroud
in all these bright alliterations
each word becoming the next
the day just flowed like that
and with red around my neck
i was calm
this colour never fails
to bring me down to earth
to bring me round again
to bring the oxygen forth into my lungs
and red like fire, i breathe in
wrapping the maroon shadow closer
cinching it in at the waist
becoming compact, safe, indestructible
becoming real, tangible, solid and contained
red coursing through my veins, i am here again
and the white clouds beckon me upwards
but this pigment keeps me down on earth
and i felt like wearing red today
for fear of fading
back to grey
new favourite colour
Grahame Jun 2014
“My Lady! My Lady! Arise from your bower,
    I’d show you something, come down from your tower!”
The maid into the Lady’s chamber goes,
    she is intent on telling her news.

“My handmaid, my handmaid, what’s all the row?
    Don’t you know I’ve been asleep until now?
I am in my bed, in nightclothes I’m dressed,
    so please impart to me, that which you feel pressed.”

“My Lady! My Lady! Please get out of bed!
    it needs to be shown you, it can’t just be said.
In your private garden is something to see,
    you wouldn’t believe it if you heard it from me.”

The Lady arises, and in her clothes dight,
    descends from the tower in the still of the night.
“Hurry, please hurry,” the handmaiden said,
    “lest what I would show you has already fled.”

They reach the tower’s base, both breathing hard,
    go out of the tower, and into the yard
That they walk across, right up to the gate,
    which the Lady unlocks, though the hour is late.

This garden is private, the demesne of the Lady,
    hedged and bowered, everywhere shady.
With windy gravel paths, carefully laid,
    and only attended by the Lady and maid.

This is her refuge, her own privy lair,
    where she’d repair, far from the care
Of running the castle, looking after the keep,
    which often oppressed her, until she could weep.

Her husband, the Lord, is oft-times away,
    in ‘The Field of Mars’, in the thick of the fray,
Leaving the Lady in the castle alone,
    who, for a pastime’s made the garden her own.

She lovingly tends the plants and the trees,
    which were chosen to tempt birds, butterflies and bees.
And, by selecting ones with strong scent,
    she could know, by smelling, at night where she went.

She now knows this garden like the back of her hand,
    and loves to walk through it, or simply to stand
Admiring the vistas, or taking the air,
    now, lead by the maid, she follows to where
A unicorn lies, wounded with a spear,
    stretched out in an arbour, showing no fear.

The Lady and maid, now hand-in-hand
    slowly approach, and before it do stand.
“My Lady, my Lady, now do you see why
    to observe it yourself I have brought you nigh?
If I’d said, in your garden was a unicorn,
    I fear you would have treated my words with scorn.”

“My handmaid, my handmaid, yes, you’ve done right,
    to bring me here, to show me this sight.
And now, we must help with this poor creature’s plight.
    We’ll pull out the spear, I hope that’ll be right.”

“Return to the castle and fetch water hot,
    and cloths to clean, and what simples we’ve got,
And needle and thread to mend this wound.
    Hurry! Go now! Don’t just stound!”

Back to the castle the maid does hurry,
    while, for the Lady, she does worry.
They’ve neither seen such a creature before,
    and know not if a grudge it bore.

Slowly the Lady approaches the beast,
    cinching her kirtle around her waist.
By its side on the ground she kneels,
    and slowly reaching out, she feels
The unicorn’s flank, to try to decide
    how far the spear has pierced its side,
While the unicorn, with lugubrious eyes,
    gazes at her face as still it lies.

Soon the maid returns with the gear,
    which she lays on the ground, conveniently near
To where the Lady is stroking the creature,
    staring in wonder at each feature.

Two brown eyes, limpid and large,
    a spiralling horn crowns its visage,
Muzzle and feet, all black as jet,
    hide as white as milk, unset.

Ears pricked up, alert and keen,
    tail and mane both long and sheyne.
They know not how long there it has lain,
    with open mouth, panting in pain.

The maid hands the Lady a dampened cloth,
    which she uses to mop up the blood, then doth
Grasp the shaft of the piercing spear,
    and with one pull, draws it clear.

The unicorn gives just one start,
    then lies there, still, although alert.
From the wound comes forth a little blood,
    which the Lady staunches as best she could.

The Lady does the wound clean and dress,
    and stitches the edges, neat as a seamstress.
She wipes the unicorn’s fevered brow,
    then she and the maid wonder what to do now.

The sun’s rays over the garden wall creep,
    So the arbour, still in shadow deep
Slowly brightens up, and then
    the beams light up the unicorn, when
A flash of light blinds their eyes,
    and when they can see, to their surprise,
At the place where lay the unicorn
    there’s now a girl lying, looking forlorn.

Amazed, the Lady and handmaid stare
    at the girl, with a stitched wound, lying there.
Seeing her naked, exposed to their sight,
    they cover her form with a length of samite.

The sun does slowly the arbour warm,
    and they think she’ll now be safe from harm,
Then gradually, she opens her eyes,
    looks at them, and then she cries.

Her whole body with her sorrow shakes,
    the arbour echoes with the sobs she makes,
She appears so fragile and delicate,
    and seems to be inconsolate.

The Lady, sitting by the girl’s side,
    is concerned that the wound might open wide.
So violent is the girl’s paroxysm,
    that she fears it might cause the suture to schism.

So taking the young girl in her arms,
    she cuddles her closely, to soothe her alarms,
And with gentle rocking to and fro,
    the girl, exhausted, to sleep does go.

Later, the Lady feels the girl’s hot,
    and realises she a fever has got.
From the simples she makes a febrifuge,
    which she administers in the arbour refuge.

The sun is almost overhead,
    so fleetingly the time has sped.
The arbour now is cool with shade,
    while the Lady continues administering aid.

The samite cloth is soaking wet,
    so some of the Lady’s clothes does the maid get.
Also fresh water, because she does think
    the girl might like a cooling drink.

She sees the girl is sitting up,
    so offers her water in a cup,
And then offers her a silken gown,
    though wonders if she can dress on her own.

The Lady asks, “Can you put this dress on?”
    Weakly, the girls says, “I’ll try anon.”
Although, when she tries, she cannot stand,
    so the maid offers to give her a hand.

With the help of the Lady and the maid,
    in the dress, the girl is arrayed.
And then she says, still seeming dismayed,
    “Thank you for your help, I’ve been so afraid.
And if you’ll continue sitting near,
    I’ll discover to you just why I am here.”

“My stepmother did me cruelly treat,
    though when with my father, she seemed so sweet,
And because his love, he between us divided,
    to separate us, she then decided”

“She semblanced gaity by day,
    while always looking for a way
To make me seem as a fool, or worse,
    and to appear in all things as perverse.”

“At night she magic studiéd,
    while my father, drugged, lay asleep in bed.
I tried to tell him of her deceit,
    though he always maintained she would not cheat.”

“Eventually, she found a way
    of letting me stay a fille by day
While becoming a unicorn filly at night.
    Against her magic I could not fight.”

“I knew it would break my father’s heart
    to discover his wife had used black art,
And so I thought it a kinder way
    to pretend to go on holiday.”

“I forged a letter from a friend
    inviting me to go and spend
A few weeks visiting her home,
    and took the chance to distantly roam.
And that is why I happened to come
    into these woods, near your home.”

“Because I’m a unicorn at night,
    I live in the woods, like an eremite.
I try to keep to my cave by day.
    I have found this is the best way.”

“As a lady in the wood,
    it’s difficult to find any food.
My clothes are ragged and all torn,
    I’m better off as a unicorn.”

“As a unicorn, I’m able to eat.
    There’s grass all around, and shoots so sweet.
There are ponds and streams where I can drink,
    and this is my best chance I think.”

“I left my cave early last night,
    however, there was still some light.
The sun had only just then set,
    and I, some grass, was eager to eat.”

“It was then I did realise
    I wasn’t alone. To my surprise
A band of hunters, going home,
    by chance through your woods did come.”

“They, straightway, their horns did sound,
    and then let slip their pack of hounds.
I desperately fled away,
    and from my cave was forced to stray.”

“I managed, in front of the pack, to keep,
    meanwhile, my strength, did slowly seep.
On reaching a river that did rapidly flow,
    I desperately leapt it, and over did go.”

“Just as I landed on the further bank,
    I felt a sharp pain in my flank.
A huntsman had chanced a spear to throw;
    I thought I’d been given a mortal blow.
Because the hounds couldn’t the river cross,
    they had to reckon me as a loss.”

“I carried on, full of fear,
    until, to the castle wall I came near.
Then seeing a garden gate open wide,
    I managed, painfully, to struggle inside.”

“I staggered into this arbour deep,
    hoping it would me safely keep.
Then, passing close by, walked your maid,
    and I made a noise though I was afraid.”

“I didn’t want to die alone,
    so I made a sound before she was gone.
I only wanted someone to be there,
    I didn’t expect to receive any care.”

“Your maid came in, quite unafraid,
    and saw me, as on the ground I laid.
And from her eye fell down a tear,
    so then I knew I’d naught to fear.”

“I could now die in company,
    except your handmaid said to me,
‘You stay there, some help I’ll get,
    I will not let you die just yet.’”

“So she brought you, and you helped me,
    and for that I’ll always grateful be.
And now, if you’ll kindly open that door,
    I’ll return to my cave and you’ll see me no more.”

The Lady and her maid said, “No!”
    adding, “from here we shall not let you go.
You have still got a crippling wound
    and for it to mend it needs to be bound.”

“My maid can fetch some serving men.
    They’ll carry you to my chamber, and then
We can give to you the care you need.
    With this plan I hope you’ll concede.”

The girl said, “Nay, this I must gainsay,
    I really must now go away.
How do you think you’ll cope with the sight
    of a unicorn in your bedroom at night?”

The Lady and handmaid thought about this.
    Then the Lady said, “I wis!
My old nursemaid lives near the wood.
    We’ll get you to her, I know we could.”

“She has a cottage and a little land,
    a stable and outbuildings round it stand.
For love of me she’ll look after you,
    I think that is the best thing to do.”

“My handmaid, fetch some serving men,
    and ask them to bring my litter, and then
They can carry the girl to my old nursemaid.
    You’ll be safe there, look not afraid.”

The handmaid goes to find some men,
    while the girl and Lady stay snug in their den.
The girl tells the Lady about her life,
    and the struggle to cope with the constant strife
Which arose from the stepmother treating her ill,
    while her father seemed totally bent to her will.

The maid returns with the men and the litter
    and though the girl said she does feel fitter,
They place her on it, and she’s then transported
    carefully to the nurse’s home. All is sorted.

To alert the nurse, the maid goes on ahead,
    and the nurse listens carefully to what is said.
She quickly makes a spare room ready
    to look after the girl, who is so needy.

The girl is gently placed on a cot,
    while the nursemaid, making some water hot,
Gives the girl a sleeping potion,
    and covers the sutured wound with a lotion.

She binds the wound with cloth that’s clean,
    then asks the Lady what it does mean.
The Lady asks her nurse, so dear,
    to keep it secret, which the nurse does swear.

The nurse then listens, quite bemused,
    how the wounded girl’s been so badly used.
And the outcome, really tragic,
    of the stepmother’s evil use of magic.

The nurse says that of course the girl may stay,
    and the garden’s enclosed, so she will not stray
At night, when become a unicorn,
    so she should be quite safe there alone.
And, furthermore, while the girl is there,
    she’ll try to find a way to save her.

The Lady and maid walk back to the tower,
    and start climbing the stairs to the Lady’s bower.
The Lady asks the maid about the gate,
    if she knows why it had been open so late.

The handmaid said, “I must confess,
    I knew the gate was open, yes.
Oh please try not to be angry with me,
    I had unlocked it with my key.”

“Why were you out, my maid, at night?
    Why couldn’t your business wait until light?”

“My Lady, I have made a match,
    a soldier who’s in your night-watch.
His duty’s at night, he sleeps by day,
    so I have managed to find a way
To see him sometimes, if I can,
    Together, we have made a plan.”

“Although he’s always on duty late,
    he’s occasionally stationed by the gate
Of this garden, near the bower,
    and then he lets me know the hour.”

“When he’s there, I use my key,
    to enter the garden secretly.
I go through it, to the gate,
    then open it, for some time with my mate.”

“So I suppose, when late last night,
    I had opened the gate for a sight
Of my leman, I must have forgotten to
    close it tight when to him I did go.”

“Then, later on, when going home
    through the garden, I heard a moan.
And tryi
Third Eye Candy Sep 2013
these days
i look upon the weary throng and sink my teeth into the pith of dreary
but sup luscious the wrung jewel with my wet lips decanted in the mid night.
i clutch the vocal point in a deep silence and patch the quilt of our unusual tapestry
cinching the knot in our not known, knowing the difference is the same light.
i suspect the heresy of my devotion longs for pink sheets of syndrome and theory
but my church has no steeple. it merely goads hydrocephalic angels to play bingo
in the right light.
i kiss peaches where they hurt. i drive a hard bargain to drink; and I keep my worms
in apples that bob for your eyes.

but not for nothing.
Lover of Words Dec 2012
And now I only realized how important you were to me when you left,
Like you were cinching together the ruptured rip in my heart torn apart by all that I've done for love,
And I felt as if it wasn't there,
Nothing went wrong either,
And if it was wrong it didn't matter,
Cause I knew that somewhere out there,
You were caring about me and would be sad to hear about me being sad…
So therefore, because you cared about whether I was happy or not,
I was indeed very happy,
But oh that evil fate that has an reared it's ugly head,
Faces me head on,
And now,
I lie missing you and wanting you and caring more about you then I ever did when you were so within my reach,
When you were there to ease the wounds of my heart,
The aspirin to my aching soul,
But now, I hurt more then I ever did before,
Cause you aren't even within talking distance,
And I try to remember the times when you weren't,
Somehow they were erased from memory,
Only to be replaced by the sweet iridescent moments of when you were there for me,
So boy,
Don't forget this heart you have so carefully and regrettably harbored for she will have a hard time forgetting you
Emilyn Nguyen May 2014
Circles within circles clenched in a fist,
finger prints of mothers, fathers, of fathers oncle, ma grand-mère et grand-père,
Vietnamese blurred French – English dialect – adopted.
Held captive by four corners – owned by simplicities of mind, lesson well learned.
Combination of two sides, cinching an aged tradition,
Recycling words, welcoming of solitude in circumference chasms.

Plated orange-yellow poles upon, crimson grading pens upon, pink erasers upon,
yellow painted light wooden pencil between the webs of my fingers,
foreign and forced upon my uncoordinated hand,
ached and cramped knotted upon them, strung upon my tangled fingers – alien.
Blind to possibility, possible to the blind,
your warm hand guiding mine, gliding streaks of graphite-lead onto smooth bamboo paper.

Inked loose leaf paper upon sheets of bent thoughts meant to be traced upon.
Handwriting of the foreign, different from the raced,
language to be taught, words to be learned,
syllables chopped, from tongue to lips, to be refused by air,
my lips followed yours, by a semblance in matter,
your dashes guide me, synchronizing to your hand before smooth, a poem you wrote.

Sawed cut chopsticks to count upon mixed upon erasers, grips upon,
wrinkled skin between clenched newborn fists,
opened wide, exposing the wings they possessed between each finger,
creases created to count with father’s hitchhiker’s thumb,
until one realized that there was more to count,
with the spaces between mother’s joints on her wide hands, and long fingers.

Canisters of undeveloped films, reminders that one has not rendered,
Fluent spheres develop in your mind, death-sentence tolled,
A color and composition – segments of hued breaths you took between shutters unraveling that you belong—intertwining my foreign fingers in your hair.
Words you’ve forgotten, shriveled hands cracked,
I wrote the words you could no longer teach me: to have met.

-         Emilyn Nguyen
Brittany Erin Aug 2012
gone are the days of laying
with my head resting on the pillow
as thoughts evaporate with the ease
of turning the faucet to wash
away the lingering toothpaste
from the porcelain sink.

here are the days of dreaming
of past wishes for the new is too complicated
like the attempts to but together the new
desk with instructions in chinese as
two-hundred pieces are scattered on the floor;
like the nightmares that crawl into the ear
with the vehemence charge, seeping
into the desires with the black gelatin
infecting, with the cinching way of
mold spreading vastly to the too ripe
fruit sitting in the corner of the refrigerator,
forgotten.
Do you ever feel your hand cinching up the paper, your knuckles are white, and you have the urge to swallow the words down your throat only for them to spew back out of your mouth with fire on their edges from the overflowing ashtray gone viral sitting next to him while he tapped at the keys hoping this page would carry some meaning, some worth larger than the pile of
discarded justice,
discarded wisdom,
discarded worth,
discarded youth
Do you ever let the curls on the side of your mouth point due north after you found a nakedness behind a sentence and you know they can see you now like all the others with their white knuckles, blistered hands, fiery eyes, and bruised knees bowing to the pile of un-cinched papers lying beside their empty ashtray next to a bottle capable of doing your self deprecation for you
but -stop
Stop looking in the mirror and just let the curls lift while they stare
Scorpius Jul 2018
It’s something
About,
Within,
Around,
Your smile
That stops
My breath
My blood
And holds
Me hostage to
My memories
Of your words-
Cinching
Strong
Cords,
Pinching
Soft
Skin,
Heavy
Between *******
For leverage.
And I am still.
Still and
Still angry.
This time,
I use my hands
To tell you
“No.”
Devon Haley Oct 2016
stars race across the night sky.
people watch in awe,
admire from afar,
and write songs about it.
but then it crashes and
burns out.
like you and me.

a child at a fair begs for ice-cream.
the reluctant parent gives in,
hands the cashier a few dollars and
the child smiles as he
licks the smooth vanilla from its cone.
licks are too slow and the
ice-cream melts and falls to the ground-
splat
like you and me.

music turned up louder,
playing through headphones.
you jog,
you dance in the kitchen,
and they become essential
to hear all your favorites songs.
you wake up and place them in your ears
only the next day and find
the left ear is static and the right is silent.
broken wires. bad connection.
like you and me.

a brown belt
strong and secure,
takes the weight of oversized guts and
cinching small waits with large behinds.
dependable, you wear it everyday.
a statement of who you are.
too much pull,
leads to broken belt holes;
the metal prong pulling through,
destroying material.
like you and me.

long blonde hair.
curled and styled to perfection,
blown in the wind and still gorgeous.
cancerous cells invade
and all the effort to fix it
makes the hair fall to the floor
in unorganized heaps.
leaving your skull
even when you beg it not to.
like you and me.

everything is like
you and me.
Lucanna Jan 2016
Is it too late to shrink into violets at full bloom
Too early to squeeze into the round sleeves of the moon
Too inconvenient to consider the hobbling leg of a ****** love ?
Has my moment passed
to lick up the freckles that fall
From face to floor
Am I too young to slip my words into a box of dogma?
Too old to melt into serpents
And I'm sure you'll tell me
I'm too pretty to dry up in a wasteland of apathy
and too confident to dive into gaped alligator comfort
Too lost to soak in road map paper cut blood
And my brain is far too twisted to
wrap around your body
buckling and cinching
as armor
Of course my flesh is too toady
For your winter coat
I've been told
It's much too prosaic to embarrass the rising rays
with my black aggressive grip
I will reach out anyways and harbor away yellow
Every second I can.
That, that you cannot take away from the pockets of my soul
Free will.
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
Wrap those arms around yourself,
It's a boost for mental health.
Embrace all feelings when alone,
Then hug until you reach your bones.
Squeeze until it's hard to breathe,
Slowly release and know relief.

Now wrap your brain around yourself;
Unbind the belt cinching sense,
The straight jacket 'round your head;
Buckled and strapped,
It fits like skin;
Too much penance for all our sins.
Unravel the sticking, needling voice,
Whispering...

I have no choice.

It's not because you're lacking wealth,
Family, friends or stable health,
But one's perception of oneself.

Don't wrap your neck inside a noose,
Or shoot yourself with an overdose;
Don't splay yourself on a subway track...

I wonder would I feel that.

Leave Daddy's gun locked in its holster;
Hold high your chin while treading water;
Stand still on bridge, cliff or ledge,
You won't hit bottom til you're dead.
Cailey Weaver Mar 2017
Numbed.

Yet, feeling.

Deadened.

Yet, living.

Forgetting.

Yet, remembering.

Loving.

Yet, hating.

Saddened.  

Yet, smiling.

Missing.

Yet, satisfied.  

Lamenting.

Yet, appreciating.

Cinching.

Yet, releasing.

Holding on.

Letting go.

Always here.

Forever disappearing.

Fighting to be lost.

Daring to be found.

On the flip side of every page.
Carrie Partain Jun 2019
Solitary muted songbird watching painted warblers croon.

Silenced by this empty cage cinching
vocal cords with rage  

Surgery would let you talk, but you won't run until you walk

Learn now, just to speak and breathe
And gratitude will set you free
I had no voice at all for almost two years because of nerve damage during surgery on my ascending aorta & subclavian artery.  Then vocal cord repair surgery was done three months ago.  I had hoped to regain my singing voice, but I still have a lot of vocal therapy and recovery to go.  But at least I can speak and be understood again.  I am anxious to be able to sing again, but I am truly blessed to have a voice at all and I'm grateful.
Dan Hess Jul 2019
To rise alone
A conqueror of nothing
To find a home invexing there
To live without the need to be
And die to flee eternally
In bliss, untied
to needs of recognition

To mean to be
To love and leave
To sip the cup of madness
And love for letting, not

To fall again in sembalance
And re-administer defense

To regard rendered
rift and revenue

Alleviate my cinching plight
Upon the wary reigns of Nigh
Begat and spat whence
The Farrowed Slop, detrite

Squander me to recompense
I am but rinded ambiance
I fall to hithermore and prescience
Dethought me

— The End —