Sometimes she’s wildfire, burning through the night;
some days she’s a winter storm, ice and fury unleashed.
Sometimes she’s a shadow, neither fully here or really there;
some days she’s untamable, wild as rolling seas.
Sometimes I hold her close, as the world starts coming undone;
some days we fit together and I feel that I belong.
Click here for audio
After all the years, the heart-shaped promises,
linked pinkies, a Ponts des Arts love lock
one Spring, it has come now to this –
a sterile room with its too-small-for-two bed,
plastic flowers, faint smell of urine.
She stands bedside, stroking and humming,
remembers spooning one night by the sea.
The setting sun caresses white hair,
tremors become twitches,
I blushed, despite imagining her often
unclothed — long caramel legs
arabesque honed, perhaps a soft tuft
to cover their tryst. I’d dreamt
creamy breasts with rose petal tips
that would stiffen and rise
in the moonlight.
The first time I saw her naked,
I stood with her mother —
the woman who bore her,
and the boy who adored her,
alone with death in the room.
-blazon after Woloch
My love with her chocolate river of tresses,
Her slow-flowing curls, polished mahogany.
My love with her lips of tequila sunrise
With her milky-skinned sin, spreading wildfire blush.
My love with her hummingbird voice
Her windswept dune song, her soul
My love with her eyes of moonstone and twilight,
Her mysterious eyes of long tide pool shadows
My love with her willow tree frame
With her star-dappled thighs, soft gossamer down.
My love with her lotus bloom tongue,
Her narcotic tongue tracing spirals through midnight,
My love with her deep-desert wellspring,
To which I stumble, broken and parched.
Posted at dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Sensory Play
Born into flame, the Phoenix laments
its heated rush towards metamorphosis.
Skin ruptures, sloughs off and flares briefly,
shedding ash and dreams. Freedom dies
with your smile and I find myself colder —
wishing to stand beside you. Always.
A betrayal of wings, as yet unfurled.
Overhead the cross hangs low, mercurial;
fickle as a lover’s embrace. The yearning heart,
released, takes flight. Framed in that introspective light
I see you hurtling forward — a stellar memory
of lost radiance and I wish to tell you:
it’s the novas that define us.
– Ryan Stone
My dear friend, Sarah, has joined the wonderful world of WordPress. An incredibly talented poet and author, Sarah’s blog is one you won’t want to miss.
As well as her exciting poetry, Sarah offers a weekly post full of great writing prompts to beat off those dreaded blank page views. She was also kind enough to feature my poem, The Weight.
You can read my poem here: The Weight @ SarahRussellPoetry
And please have a look around the site while you’re there, you won’t be disappointed 🙂
I’m excited to see one of my drabbles – Rishi’s Star – published at the wonderful site The Drabble.
For anyone unfamiliar with the term, Wikipedia offers this definition – “A drabble is a short work of fiction of around one hundred words in length. The purpose of the drabble is brevity, testing the author’s ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in a confined space.”
The Drabble also has an excellent guide to what they’re looking for – What Exactly Is Drabble.
I’ve been writing them for awhile now and find it a great way to tune in my brain at the start of a writing session…and every so often I’m left with something I like.
Worth a try when you’re next faced with that dreaded blank page 🙂