Morning's Best

First kiss of morning:

Blinds drawn,

                    doors closed,

Coffee machine,

                        waits.

Night clothes,

                     scattered.

Skin,

       red quilt warm.

Lips soft,

              slightly swollen.

Tan lines sharp,

                       coconut scent .

Blue eyes blink slowly,

                                   ocean shallows,

                                                           r i p p l e (less).

Lone blonde curl,

                           misplaced.

                                          

Whispered smile,

                           flavors sweet,

                                                breath.

First kiss of morning.

Rock Star (Big Tent Poetry)

By Sarah Joncas

Annoying,

                the sound of her voice.

Geeky,

           her look,

                          in a sexy,

                                         polka dot kind of way.

Yet

     No one knew

                         d

                         e

                         e

                         p

                            down,                 

she was a rock star,

not even her.

!Mes Fesses (Friday Poetically)

Defiance by Jeanne Anthony

Summer sun creeps over whining trees with sibilant spray of sizzle

Sussurrate wisps sift weary limbs searching moisture

Scorched grass crackles in flat despairing notes

Hissing air escapes roots begging mercy

Shadows are worthless blotches of muffled cries

Summer southern comfort

!Mes fesses

Pardon my French

From Heaven (Something for Thursday)

The sun was setting and dusk was painting our portrait

With ashen hand
I caressed her face
Golden hues of sunset lace
I drew her near
Where I could taste
… Her kiss

With sore eyes closed
I caressed her ear
Gentle strokes of loving grace
I whispered warm
Where she could hear
… My love

The sun was setting and dusk was painting our portrait
A young couple talking for the last time

She cried a tear
And spoke so soft
Her stare was sad and focused off
I’ll miss you true
And I will fear
… Your death

She spoke of God
And Heaven’s harp
She quote a prayer from Jesus’ heart
He loves you too
Will never stop
… She shared

The sun was setting and dusk was painting our portrait
A young couple talking for the last time
Framed arm in arm by twilight’s charm

My hairless head
Was shaded pink
Was kind of scared
And couldn’t think
I asked her please
To share her faith
… Again

He sacrificed
And paid the price
He bled his life and rose again
He paved a path
For you and I
To bow and claim
… He’s Lord

The sun was setting and dusk was painting our portrait
A young couple talking for the last time
Framed arm in arm by twilight’s charm
A lover’s salvation, a conversation, for all to see

I prayed a prayer
And made Him Lord
We clasped our hands and cried some more
I held her close
Now face to face
And kissed her lips
… Until …

I’ll die that night
Inside her arms
I’ll breathe my last set free from harm
I’ll praise the Lord
On streets of gold
My love was right
… Amen

The sun was setting and dusk was painting our portrait
A young couple talking for the last time
Framed arm in arm by sunset’s charm
A lover’s salvation, a conversation, for all see
… From Heaven

Two for One (Poets Rally 43)

Rose scented candles

wait for

a flicker

            of flame.

In stillness

of silent readiness

they smell

like  roses

slouching in dark.

_____

Cobwebbed chambers,

  indolent heart,

  linger for impulse,

                            rots

  loitering for life

  that left the building.

Way Cool (one shot wednesday, week 44)

Art by sarah joncas http://www.mymodernmet.com/profiles/blogs/distressed-beauty-artist

My love grows red and hangs from legs like fruit

of forests dark and dusted white by snow

 in late December light. 

                                       She’s not a sin

like Adam ate when Eve believed the tongue

of serpents wile. 

                            Her cherry dress does not

reveal secret tattoos of panther paws

on thighs so long beneath high tights of red

and white bold stripes. 

                                      She whispers soft from lips

she’s licked to keep them moist so she can kiss

my neck and say she loves me from her heart.

My Fav’rite fruit

                             hangs upside down

in forests dark

                         from limbs by knees

in dresses red

                        in snow so white

to prove to me

                        her love is right,

and ripe for life;

                          forever bright,

and proud to be

                          my wife.

Her love is so, way cool.

Benjamin McGee (Try this form again)

Bats fly at night in moonlit steeples high

above the city street.  A cello breathes

a dirge on mists of fog.  A spade in dirt

creates a grave for one lone man asleep

from wine as red as blood just drained

from lambs out on the farm.  The song cries soft

to mourn the loss of Benjamin McGee.

No doubt a lonely widower he was,

but helped the poor each Monday morn before

the snow began.  It came like screaming ice

so fast her life had not a chance. He thought

he left her wood enough to make a blaze

that night.  He found her blue with frozen tears

under her blackened eyes.  He blamed himself

and was the death of Benjamin McGee.

Soul of Ghosts (For Jingle)

Painting by Mirit Ben-nun

She does not look like me

Her clothes are rags and stained

My door she stands sobs please

Her hands outstretched in pain.

Her clothes are rags and stained

Eyes blue are blurred in tears

Her hands outstretched in pain

Thin lips held taught in fear.

Eyes blue are blurred in tears

Red hair tied tight by string

Thin lips held taught in fear

Yet still she wears my ring.

Red hair tied tight by string

Her smile once warm is gone

Yet still she wears my ring

Chapped cheeks are pale and drawn.

Her smile once warm is gone

My door she stands sobs please

Chapped cheeks are pale and drawn

She does not look like me.

***

She wears a cross of gold

Her presence is divine

My heart now feels paroled

Compared to me she shines.

Her presence is divine

She smells of life forgot

Compared to me she shines

Good bye my friend, Distraught.

She smells of life forgot

Not like my soul of ghosts

Goodbye my friend, Distraught

With chains and taunts and boasts.

Not like my soul of ghosts

She does not look like me

With chains and taunts and boasts

My door she stands sobs please.

She does not look like me

My heart now feels paroled

My door she stands sobs please

She wears a cross of gold.

Weary (One Stop Poetry; blank verse NOT) Revisd

Image by Theo Dapore

Where are my robins?

Mornings I reach with spindly,

rigid limbs to bleached skies,

searching strength, hope of return,

lashed by winter’s rejection.

Imprisoned in cell pods red tattooed ink,

hope for restoration flutters blue - green redemption,

orange breasted ballets;

 

Oh, the chorus of my babies and not frigid flat notes of taunting winds.  Comeback, my robins, and nest within my arms. I’m weary this lonely season.

Working on It (One Stop Poetry: Picture prompt

Photo by Rosa Frei

You ride waves

    of dried up seas,

No dolphins slicing.

    pink stained

        polished morning glass.

 

I travel oceans,

    white sails breathing,

No spitting camels,

    gold rolled folds

        of wind shaped sand.

We do share islands,

     cutting storms,

         lonely nights,

             colorful dawns,

                 love for our families.

But you make me uncomfortable, it’s terrible, I know, even unspoken,

    nothing I’m proud of.

So maybe we start with honesty

                                                 and go from there.

I don’t blame you for the most tragic day in my life,

    but the symbols of you,

        good or bad,

            trigger memory in me,

                releasing prejudice,

                                             I wish, I wish, I didn’t have.

But I’m working on it.