Tale Weavers/Saturday Mix: Poem – Free Verse – “Snuffed Out” #amwriting #poetry #TaleWeavers #SaturdayMix


Thanks to Michael of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting TaleWeavers and a prompt/theme where light is the focus. Also, combining with Sarah from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie May 12, 2018 Double Take Saturday Mix Prompt on the homophone words: cedar – an evergreen tree with seeder – one who broadcasts seeds, and days – more than one day with daze – to bewilder.


Credit: Samantha Lynch via Unsplash


I’ll never trace the curve of your lips,

Where it dips, and lick my thumb;

Your nip, a playful bite.

Your brows wiggle; eyes sapphire.

While we slide past maybes,

Sleek condos and greenery;

Cedar trees that sway,

A seed in my heart nourished.

Sharp grass intoxicating —

You claiming my mouth;

Sweeping of lips,

Slow and exquisite.

Sweat makes us stick.

I ache as I’ve never.

Your hand rests ‘neath my throat,

My pulse rapid and wild.

You’ve etched my heart,

I’ll never forget.

The wind rustling, and the flapping of wings,

Our breath in syncopation.

Fighting for air against —

Little deaths.

In a moment, a few minutes,

On a train—

Where we two met.

Potential flared; I turned —

Flustered.

The pain in my chest,

Will it lessen?

Dazed as the days drift,

I didn’t know your name.

Know the flame you kindled,

Would burn me.

My hearts lit with your light,

But the mischief in me,

Craves you both in deepest night,

And the blinding day;

Beneath the Mexican sun,

On tequila beaches.

Daylight to overwhelm,

The throb of pain,

Of possibility snuffed out.


©Mandibelle16.(2018) All Rights Reserved.

Advertisements

#NaPoWriMo Day 30/Photo Challenge: Free Verse – “A symphony Intrinsic” #amwriting #poetry #photochallenge


For NaPoWriMo Day 30 is: ” to write a poem that engages with a strange and fascinatingfact. It could be an odd piece of history, an unusual bit of art trivia, or something just plain weird.” I’m combining with NEKNEERAJ from MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie’sPhoto Challenge.


Credit: Nicolas Bruno


We didn’t have smartphones, flip-phones,

No second lines or iron rotary phones.

Just a ‘can’ to yell back and forth,

Every kid in every neighbourhood had one,

And gossip was damaging;

Persistently strangling its victims.

But, we had no internet or wifi, no dial-up modem,

We penned epics in burnt-sienna cursive.

Our handwriting perfection,

As the pages stretched for hours.

Your morada -inked letters rumpled in my hand,

Holding the ‘can’ to my ear,

As morse-code clicks bullets at pigeons.

And we drifted near drowning in our childhood pond,

Too many words said, too many left unsaid;

Too many deeds done, too many left undone.

I never dreamed we’d split;

That pliers and scissors could strip string and wire —

That alone we were too weak,

To go beyond what our fathers said,

And the fears our mothers chided.

I didn’t know what we had together existed

But then, it was gone.

The water rose higher,

Warm water crushing breath;

Until I snuck out at night if only to survive,

To repair the damage wrought.

I forgot about technology,

The meaning of symbols or alphabets.

I climbed over your window sill,

I woke you with all those words,

The phrases I couldn’t keep inside.

Languages long lost but to us —

Centuries of unexpressed thoughts.

I listened as your morada-handwriting,

Echoed in silver-glitter when you spoke.

A melody that flew as butterflies,

Mediterranean giants with cobalt, crystal wings.

It was eons until everything bled-out,

Then, we were silent.

Lying together, limbs, lips, and laughter,

Bodies loving.

Saying all other words with sensation.

As the sky became serene, and sunlight filtered in,

And you traced my lips in awe,

I trembled and nipped your thumb.

For once we perceived the best tool for understanding,

Was to speak in person;

To converse, cry, yell, and observe–

Each other’s quirks and emotions.

The subtle signs we once knew,

Of sensuous appeal sublime and expressive.

Of rose perfume and musty libraries;

Of summer’s swimming and sunscreen,

Grass sharp and tangy in its freshness.

Your lips as berries devoured,

As forever lengthened our bones,

Made are skin supple, curved and honed.

Your hands on five-o’clock’ shadowed cheeks;

Wistfulness and whispered prayers.

Sins of afternoons and mornings lost,

Of nights spent miserable and alone;

Because we did not sit face to face and talk.

Our greatest gift — our human bodies,

Machines of the grandest designer,

His ‘plans’ can’t be derived, copied or improved;

And all sense of confusion,

Streamed past as estuaries scurried into oceans;

Our pond overflows with fresh water.

Hands wrapped as ribbons, never letting go,

Hazel-eyes to azure knowing the way we are now, is much more —

We were never meant to be alone.

Forlorn in this age of deception,

Forlorn without guidance in the dim.

No ‘cans’ to listen or letters written,

We’re humans at time’s dawn,

Our voices a rhythm sanguine,

A symphony absorbed and intrinsic.


©Mandibelle16. (2018) All Rights Reserved.