"prized" poems
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.
What marvelous route did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,
you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.
As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.
Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world
caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.
This phantom world gave you false signs
But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You are now the Sun -
what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I've heard that you can barely see your soul.
But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.
Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -
You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring down like the rain of heaven
you fell upon the rooftop of this world.
Then you ran in every direction
and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over
and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.
36.7k
Things we lost in the fire,
Sometimes the things we loose while in battle are not physical things
But rather characters of ourselves
I lost my bravery
I used to be able to jump into anything with guns blazing
Yet today I cannot decide what's my next step
Because I lost my most prized possession
I lost my bravery
Bravery has always been my tool to make the most of my life
Never afraid to loose
Of everything I lost in the fire
I miss my bravery the most
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
I know you.
Sitting behind a screen in your room,
Sipping in the shadows of a coffee shop.
iPhone, iPad, iAm "Anonymous".
The most dangerous word you can be labeled,
The most double-edged of weapons-
Anonymous.
You're never really as untraceable
As the cleared browser history says you are,
Never as untraceable as the chain of destruction you cause is traceable.
You're never really as invisible
As the checked box lets you think you are,
Never as invisible as the scars you direct a hand to make are visible.
One word can't be all that.
Anonymous can't be so dangerous.
Some clicks on a keyboard can't be so devastating.
There's a reason it used to be difficult to avoid responsibility.
Because responsibility for your words, for what you cause,
Is what allows you to see a few steps ahead.
Your signature is what allows you to learn from mistakes,
To vow after you've learned the hard way to think before you act.
To see that those words have two names attached to them now.
The writer, and the subject.
Two traceable, visible people.
Two hearts beating and breathing, now connected.
Anonymous constructs a wall between action and reaction.
It robs you of responsibility.
Yes, responsibility is a prized possession, there to teach and show.
Anonymous allows you to settle.
It robs you of the greater person you could become.
Yes, your future holds more than this, there beyond the wall of cyber bulling.
I hate that I was once Anonymous like you.
I hate that I unknowingly controlled the strings
Of a self-destructive marionette hand miles away.
But I don't hate you. Because I know you.
I know you are more than the mistakes you've made behind that screen.
I know you are more than Anonymous.
So prove it.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 7:13 PM UTC
I want to be wanted.
I want to be worth wanting.
To be desired, sought after, prized.
I want to be protected.
Not shielded, but jealously kept.
Not abused either... Just held.
I want someone to love me.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
I know we've never been "together."
I know you said to move on.
I tried to be fine with wading this weather,
But the love in my heart still tells me it's wrong.
Now, I'm not saying I'm resentful,
But you did treat me like I was special.
Lately has been so uneventful.
And I'm starting to think this isn't a game...
I get a little jealous when you look at other girls.
I know we're not together, but... You are my whole world.
I get a little jealous when you talk about them too.
It's because we're not together, but...
You told me that you liked me... You told me that you do.
Now, I'm not trying to be weird, but call me, I'd give you my time.
Actually, I'd give you everything, cuz I just want you to be mine.
When I got too lonely, I'd just stare at your photos--
Soundless replacements for you, who knows.
You said I'm obsessive—come on now, don't play.
You like it when I'm open, you preferred me this way.
You said we'd be great together, don't think I forgot.
I cherish every sweet thing you said, so my heart doesn't rot.
Now I've deleted all of your things, cuz I can't bear to see your face.
My prized possessions... I should've given you space.
Why wouldn't you make me yours, like you wanted to?
Now we're apart, now we'll both just be blue.
And now I regret this—now I really do.
True, I'm a little weird, but we're both crazy.
I know what you're afraid of; I know it isn't me.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
Bunga Bunga everywhere,
a powerful man with silly hair
seduced a girl too young and scared,
was married too but didn’t care.
Corrupt and feared!
Bunga Bunga sounds like fun,
a swimming pool and saucy sun,
an Egyptian that was on the run
Or, under-aged Morocun
Who ****** the boss!
Bunga Bunga ***** and *****
coffles of women to choose
and buy and grab and ride and use,
with confidence
and so much to lose,
but why didn’t he lose?
Why didn’t he lose when it was on the news
and hundreds of thousands of people accused
him of scandal and incompetence?
He never revealed his conscience
or any remorse for play boy antics
so far removed from his pedantic
stereotype as a political leader,
more like a ****** wheeler dealer,
pervy old ***** geezer,
over cologned,
greasy,
heavy breather;
machinating falsifier;
misogynistic **********
He prized a Ruby above the rest.
Bunga bunga, what a pest...
she leaked his private fetish fest;
poor Silvio, he tried his best
to hide the bribes and bets
and ****** and drugs and threats
but never could care
what was right and
what was fair.
Could only care
about the colour of his
**** hair.
May 8, 2018
May 8, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Disconnected the more we’re connected
Our children are affected and feeling neglected
While our rights to privacy are no longer respected
An idea our ancestors never projected
The transgressions of technological progression
An obsession creating social oppression
A Millennial’s iDol, a prized possession
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
There she sat upon the wall.
Longing for springtime to come,
she wished to blossom into a beautiful bud,
Although, beautiful was not expected to come about.
Nevertheless, she was to bloom,
into a wallflower-
a flourish that was shunned by the most prized beings-
she desired to cut the vines from which she sprouted,
to be erased from the lineage of her loved ones.
She yearned to fall among the soil and the pasture,
to be trampled on by the glorious.
Because at least there,
lying in the fallow,
she would’ve been touched by the legendary.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
*I roar with a bravado
that echoes throughout
the deepest caverns
of brave souls
yet with every time
there lies a risk
of my own reverberations
shattering my heart
I am fragile glass
fashioned into
the fearsome form
of a lion
I have been chiseled at by
Father Time and Mother Earth,
carved away by my pains
and my worries.
I am no façade;
there is nothing ornate
about me designed to
hide something heinous
I can shatter
just as easily
as my mother’s
prized china set
But I roar on
even as I chip away;
my joints creaking
and my body scorched.
Do not mistake my
scratches and cracks
for weakness,
I have demons of my own.
I walk this ground
with the hope
that my roars,
in spite of my fragility,
will instill a sense of hope
into all of you
with glass hearts
such as mine.*
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC
Whispers hello as the first streams of sunlight
inch their way in through their black chiffon veil,
gleaming on our garden of stale breath,
and down feathers.
Whispers goodnight as his proud freckles
become the constellations outside my window,
and the moon stretches her arms
for another night's work.
Whispers sorry after his words became feather-lances
jousting through my arguments until my armor
was askew and torn
at its paper seams.
Whispers tales of tomorrows and fortnights
to come under illusions of rich greens, blues, and yellows
he will finger paint on my forehead
like a warrior.
Whispers goodbyes, sweet and forlorn,
as he realizes promises and paints will not keep the morning
from snatching his prized possession from his cotton laced roost,
leaving him alone with just the rays of the sun
to admire his tail.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
My memory is full of color and passion~ No amount of time could dull it
Its as if I still have the paint brush in hand.. our movements of the sea
and this painting of my memory is still etched inside me
The air is as hot and sticky as could be
your hands slowly gliding and lightly stroking me
Kisses so hot that they kindled and leap at the ready fuel of our need
Muscles clenching and tensing as our passion grows with greed
Weakened and undone now I arch to meet his lips and tongue that now savor
tasting of my flesh and most prized possession as though it were a banquet of the sweetest of flavor
He now whispers the sweetest
of words that I have ever heard
I want to watch you enjoy and want to watch you fill up with me
As I slowly part my legs allowing him to enter and finally set me free
This memory I hold very close to my heart
this painting of my love and our beautiful art
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 9:17 AM UTC
The hazel in her eyes/matched the laces in her dress/I must confess/ that as I undid all the knots/ A thousand thoughts/ rushed through my head/ but i forgot/ how to speak/ so I let my hands speak to your hips/ and my neck adore your lips/ the only kiss/ I could miss/ on a day/ when you'd be away/ I'd beg to stay/ in your arms/ no harm/ would come to pay/ any attention/ to the way/ I hold my most prized possession/ rose red lips/ slender finger tips/ caress me/ the candles lit/ fire in the balcony/ smoke into the sky/ clouding light/ bringing night/ by your side/ I stay inside/ try to hide/ from snow and ice/ getting lost/ lost inside/ again, your hazel eyes.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
Seasons come and go,
Each year it's the same.
If only people changed like the seasons.
Winter, Summer, Autumn, Spring;
Each one holds a secret,
It's own special magic.
Winter holds a promise that there is
Life after Death.
Spring ignites a spark; a sliver of
Hope and a pinch of Joy for healing.
Autumn holds the key to
Eternity,
And Summer is the Epicenter of
The Magic.
Summer is the result; the After-life;
It is Rebirth.
Seasons change, and people do too,
But it's a pity - a shame - that people
Don't change the same way.
People are too unpredictable; we change
Our minds too many times, we change
Our Destinies every day.
Seasons don't.
Seasons accept their constant cycle;
Their Natural Pattern.
People will never be like the Seasons.
I guess that's what makes us all
Unique.
In this way
We are Designed -
Crafted, Molded.
Seasons harbour a Secret;
It's own special Magic.
We too, are our own special Magic.
Winter promises Life after Death,
People are promised Happiness after Depression.
Spring ignites a spark of Joy for Healing,
People are promised Joy and Healing after Pain
And Suffering.
Autumn holds the key to Eternity,
People are promised Eternity in the Promised Land.
Summer is the Epicenter; the After-life,
And people are the Epicenters of their own lives.
We are our own Masters of Catastrophe.
People are Reborn in Faith.
Looking at it now, maybe we are much like
The Seasons.
We are predictable in our unpredictability.
This is our prized Possession.
This is our kind of Magic.
People have seasons, people are seasons.
Winter is our Darker side,
Spring is our Healing,
Summer, our Euphorical - blissful side,
Autumn, our Procrastination, our Changing,
Our Learning.
Just like the Seasons, we change;
We mold our Futures and become who we are meant
To be;
We become part of a Cycle.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Gentler then the sweet spring rain
And bolder than the thunder storms that follow
With the hue of a freshly awakened flower,
That has the courage to dance with the elements,
She takes center-stage of the room.
Bearing the most captivating outfit she could throw together
The beauty that surrounds her cannot be described with mere mortal words
For she has transformed herself into a goddess
A gift of nature
Such an uncommon sight, seeing this woman carry herself with such grace
One would be lead to believe she is searching for attention
But the opposite is true
For holding onto her arm, her most prized-possession,
A man of simple taste that treats her like a princess.
She is not dressing up for her own pleasure but for his
Showing her beauty off to the world
And letting them all know he is worthy of such a girl
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
.
•
be
-hold
my sole
prized instru-
ment of choice•
let it bear the wei-
ght of my unspoken
voice•in the dead of
the silent night•i'll let
loose my heart so it co-
uld take flight•consoli-
dating all that i think•
and...converting them
into the blackest ink•
only then freely......it
would spill•down
the stem and
to the nib
of my
fea
the
red
qui
ll
•
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
but these jewels shine of coal.
I keep trying to feel,
but I got no hope
in my heart
or in my soul.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
you sit next to the bearded elf.
Third from the right, seventh shelf.
I carry you around like a babydoll.
Ragged dress with a hooded eye;
you reek of destruction,
but like a prized possession
I'll carry you to my grave when I die.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
may you spare me one key?
I beg of you to open up,
Please, please, please!
Shed some light for me.
Golden
Grown
Sewn
and
Shown.
That's how our hearts seem out to be.
Dripping wild, red cries of kerosine.
Their voice sounds of dusty rust
when they sing.
Tripping over the finish line
their broken back
CRACK
CRACK
CRACK
cracking.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box,
but like a door
this box holds much more.
Much more than a box has held before.
The secrets that lie
rest behind
dark, evil crescent moons
like the sun reaching an eclipse.
Typhoon lips.
Untouchable kiss.
Half of a whole.
Red tailed fox striped jewelry box
shines of nothing
but a bunch of coal.
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
The air was crisp and clean and clear,
The huntsman knew his time had come.
He gathered all equipment and gear.
Then shined and polished his gun.
He took a step, his boots polished black.
To his tiny little wife he blew a kiss back
Off, he was, to capture his prized buck.
She waved goodbye wishing him luck.
He got to his post, stood there and waited.
Patiently, with his traps he had baited.
For a time he remained quiet and still.
This kind of game was his kind of thrill.
Lo and behold, with rage and adrenaline
A perfect opportunity made its rise.
He steadied his rifle, an expert marksman.
He shot the young buck between its eyes.
In a moment it was done
And the huntsman had won.
The poor creature had no chance to fight.
It had fallen to the earth
No cry made it's birth
A silent victim in the night.
Time had come for homebound journey,
With the sun setting on both heads.
Only one of them back with family,
The other became family's dread.
The huntsman took his brand new trophy
And hung high the brown skinned creature.
Hand in hand with his wife he stood boldly
"I was the one to end this ******
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
My Prize for Waiting
~
*tucked in all by myself,
resting dark and quiet
in the thin place^
where the distance between
this world and the next,
is no distance at all,
but a few inches separating,
easily fordable, back and forth-able
my palms, hands down,
come to rest on my *******
and the two thumbs in unison,
begin to sweep the streaming space of their in-between,
conducting a radar sweep-search for the precise point
passageway to poetic mystical places,
hoping to snag any residuals for safekeeping
no hurry to either arrive or depart,
in patient attendance for
rhythms of woven word arrivistes,
coming in no particular order,
asking to be seized, greedy to be
nominated and recognized, immortalized,
as great poetry, prize worthy,
kept for all time inside others poetry chests
but in the thin place,
dream records are not kept,
hazy scraps at best retained,
a recipe for a witnessed totality,
is only a soupy reduction of a
few seconds of hazed video,
that can neither give nor get
no satisfaction
the plastic surgeons attempt to reconstruct
the body of the meal, the real deal,
alas, there are no prizes either
for botched surgeries and pretty but meaningless
poetry scraps
the only evidence of my travels,
a flushing, blushing residual flow,
slow to dissipate, a hangover makers mark
of a sojourn best described as unsatisfying,
my blush, a prize for waiting but failing,
“the most peculiar and most human of all expressions”^^
woe to me when returned in ignominy,
medaled in only base irony,
me and philosopher Pliny,^^^
both dying while recording our own private Vesuvius,
our bodies preserved by voluminous volcanic ash,
but alas, you cannot recite the ash of poetry
so one waits, cut and pasting brown edged
burnt photographs epistles,
that are clinging and clung to the distaff spindle,
insufficient to weave a flax complete
and yet we return perforce twenty four hours from now,
to snag another prized piece of meaningless,
my prize for waiting
in the solitude of the thin place*
3:35am Saturday April 6th, 2019
~
last nights scrap
***cease your whining,
seize your waiting,
therein is your own paid price
for the prize of inspiration***
inspired by Jean Fisher,
a real prize winning poet
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 4:26 AM UTC
Another morning in the life
Of a P.T.D, I slurped my
Juice back all 400 ml, then
Stretched up, fingers
Wiggling as mother picked
Me up.
Snuggles in the morning
Nothing better, to show I'm
Loved. But back to business,
As I turned my dummy to
The opposite side, the taste
Is better every time its turned
Soothing with each ****
It was nearly breakfast time
A belly is never wrong,
MMmmm...
Toast and jam, I smile
At mummy with my
Cheshire Jam smiled face.
"Silly little man"
As she wipes the smudges
From all over my face.
A case to solve, was my plan,
The missing statue of
SANDMAN BOB tm.
It was here before, but now
Gone, the prized possession
Of hairy dog, as I pat his head
And he licks my face
Yuckkkk....
Doggy that was yuck, he wags
His tail and then he is off.
What a morning so much done,
Time for a nap then detective
Work to be done. I wake to
Dads voice,
"Morning little man"
"How was your nap"
As i give my answer with a
Yawn and a smile, he gives
A cuddle then off to work for
Hours of fun and playing games.
The clues to be seen the trail
To be found, for I'm
***** Trained Detective"*
And no case is to far, as
Long as I can have a nap
And a cuddle, maybe a
Little sip and a gulp, here
On look out of what is to
Be found.
Hairy dog is sleeping in his
bed, I hear a noise I hear a
Sound??
What a strange noise,
"Snoring"
"NO"
"Bottom belches"
"No funny smells"
As I lift up his blanky
Softly so not to wake doggy's sleep,
And their he is safe and sound.
"SANDMAN BOB"
"Playing hide and go seek"
Under hairy dogs nose and bottom,
As he sleeps it does squeak, it
Does beep, I lift it up and under
His paw, to surprise him when
He awakens. A tail shall wiggle
And flop around, but the case was
Solved and a happy smile found.
***** Trained Detective* does it
Again, but for now it is nap time,
A new case, a new thing to be
Found. I will see you all again
Soon, But now its snuggles
Time with mummy in bed.
As I close my eyes night, night
I turn my dummy once more,
As sheep float quietly over my head.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:26 PM UTC
She is like a red, thorn-stricken rose,
A beauty prized inside my garden,
Her body, like the petals, gracefully flows,
Movement preventing the coldest heart to harden.
I could be undoubtfully mistaken,
For my eyes play tricks, like mischievous young boys,
Making it rather difficult to awaken from a dream,
Or escape from a well planned ploy.
Only time will tell us, if it is meant to be,
Fate will bring my real soulmate, at a moment of overwhelming darkness,
The strong waves are beating against the shore, and back out to sea,
Until I meet perfection, wearing a white linen dress.
However, don't let the oppourtunity to find her pass you by,
Especially when it presents itself in the blue sky.
Aug 3, 2011
Aug 3, 2011 at 10:08 AM UTC
I feel a simple joy
As I look upon the hills
The kind that uplifts my heart
Without the skiing thrills.
The trees look their best
All dressed in multi-coloured hues
And stretch for miles around
Against skies of brightest blues.
And as I watch the sun,
Rise from the other side;
I see life stirring out,
From where at night it hides.
The sky gets filled with colour:
To a warm tangerine-orange glow;
And my mind is filled with awe,
At this wondrously delightful show.
Some birds have started
Singing their happy whistling tunes;
And will continue with their songs,
Till its way past noon.
There are some that have started
Before the day broke into dawn,
And unite with the melodies
Of those who start later in the morn.
And these very merry sounds
So full of happy cheer
Makes the state of Kashmir,
Our very prized frontier.
The sounds are echoed far and wide
On this mountainous terrain
Over hills and through valleys
They reach below to the plains.
At night it gets all quiet,
Except for the babbling brook
And the occasional hoot of the owl
That startles me from my book.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
*Her prized first bike
came out of a breakfast cereal competition.
Then sped her around London
from lecture to final examination.
Twenty years on it was replaced
by gleaming white and black carbon.
Bought, lacking in memories
faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan.
Fitness, a priority this year
swimming in the pool, open water and the sea.
Clare selected a running coach
cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea.
Happy, with her performance
in her very first event as a triathlon novice.
A second, saw Clare pedaling faster
to race past fellow competitors with ease.
In her last competition she was pictured lithe
on posters promoting reactive sports glasses.
Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand
for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-ass*.
My congratulations dear hero...
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC
Disclaimer: I did this as a creative rewrite for one of my university lit courses, and all the inspiration and quotes belong to Robert Browning the original writer of "My Last Duchess"
HIS LAST DUCHESS
ARRIVEDERCI
_“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive.”_ (I’m not)
Alas! Me, “a wonder.” He calls.
Now wretchedly refined and pasteurized.
To be consumed, now, for genteel eyes.
Pity! Should you ever see me roll mine.
Behind those curtains, you might have been surprised
To see my countenance whimpering
At you Sir; and seething, at _Him._
Must you not be fooled by that sickly decorum
Upon which his manly pride resides.
The Duke—what rich talent in envy he has,
And of pithy idiosyncrasies! Pardon me now
As I speak of his infamies: Is it not,
Too preposterous of a Duke, to sulk
And take offense, over a blush?
(As if the blush was his to wield and shun.)
Am I not allowed to flush _at all?_
And must I be ashamed of being swooned
By the casual offers of life’s grandiosities?
Each and every, dropping of the daylight,
Ripen cherries in May and chivalrous gentlemen,
my dear white mule; must I then weep
at them all, only to prove my fancy for him.
And when does gracious gratitude itself
become in vain: a finite honour—
deemed excessive elsewhere?
Never had he plucked me out, for censure,
Before he gave commands, I knew he did
To pluck the smile out of my face.
Utterly clueless—he thought I was
To find myself throttled, for immodesty.
A wife, an appendage to a Duke,
Loosely felled, to stroke a green-eyed ego.
My fault it seems, is a mere generosity
Of affection: falsely opined, if not
Misread, to fare a defect of temperament,
A chronic malady, doth be cured by death.
To cement the farce he will, soon, bring you
Downstairs to meet a friend. (a fiend)
A prized possession: Neptune, taming a sea-horse.
His hubris incarnate, cast in bronze.
But you must know the truth, for the sea-horse
Did not perish for naught, she is freed from him
At last.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
You were left behind
A victim of a mirage I’d stepped into
One yellow rain boot too deep.
You, slithering out of your cases
Scratched by the fading sunlight
Are my prized possession
For every moment you held inside
Was as carefree
As the words I spoke.
You were delicate artwork
not art as in paintings that were to be hung
carefully in the front of a museum
but the ones curling at the corners
slipping from underneath fridge magnets.
With my eyes pinned on the screen
seeping into my temples
Your naked feet fumbled with the sand
Fumbled with the hopping and twirling toes
of beach dancers
Fumble with the endless badges you have gained
over the ribbon on your chest
places you have gone
but, it is all as futile as it is alluring
sand is just tiny, little rocks
You will fade, these images
will fade from my memory
like the endless
titles in a bookstore
and I will return to my reflection
ingrained in silver circle.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 2:32 AM UTC