Blue Moon In August

gretasday.com

 

The August heat will not wane for the night

The black crow sky embraces a blue moon

and so we too embrace beneath the stars

How many wishes made upon these stars?

How many secrets shared within the night?

How often were we watched by jealous moon?

I know you'll always be there like the moon

We lend each other brightness like the stars

The heat of you awakens me at night

Love rare as nights of blue moons, falling stars.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Form For All, On Tritinas

gretasday.com

Letter From the Dead On the Side of the Road

Do you even see the damage you cause?
Open your eyes!
Look at your highways
They are littered
with the broken shells of our homes
Splattered
with our torn and twisted bodies
Asphalt painted
red with our spilled blood

Your glass and metal armor
turns us to fragments
fur, feathers, bone
Years of nurture and struggle
rubbed out
in a kiss with a radial tire

Look at us!
Can you bear it?
Will you say a prayer
for the Dead?
Do you even notice the ghosts
riding on your hood
scratching at your windows
pecking at your eyes?

(Saw yet another dead box turtle on the road today-it had gotten hit by a car. The road wasn't even a busy one; why can't people just pay attention and slow down?!!)

submitted for Theme Thursday, Eyes
and Poetry Jam, Letters

White Roses (Redux)

Mama Zen asked us to write a short poem using a "power image." I chose the white rose, often associated with death and mourning. I forgot that I was supposed to limit myself to 25 words, so my first attempt is somewhere longer, followed by a shortened version.

 

Ivory roses matched her wedding gown

Juxtaposed against her tresses of brown

A single white bloom she now holds in her hand

on a chain round her neck, she wears his wedding band

Solemnity shadows the end of each year

as the names of the dead are read, she strains to hear

His name makes her clench up her fist on a thorn

With a blood stained white rose, she goes home now to mourn.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She carried ivory roses on her wedding day

Now she holds a single white bloom

wears his wedding band

on a chain around her neck

her face, paler than the petals.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count With Mama Zen

Empty Spoon

Working Still by Borg de Nobel

  I hear your cries

like Spanish radio

in the apartment next door

I have no milk

I haven't eaten in three days

Ashes to ashtray

dust to rock

dreams to smoke

I cook my meals on a dirty spoon

I feed death to my bones

I saw your mouth move

like a hatchling bird's

My empty spoon

can't fill your hunger

I am nothing

I can give nothing

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Poetics, Borg de Nobel

Close Up

Calm, composed

Shall I look deeper?

Injured, stabbed

Rusted, scarred

Touch the wrong place and get jabbed

The surface is safe

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Extreme Close Up (Shadorma)

Love Poem For a Place and a Girl

photo by Allison Tardio

She understands this place;

she understands me.

We walk the wooden boards in silence

and let Nature speak.

The creek eases past Cypress knees,

anchoring trees who have stood

peaceful witness

through lifetimes come and gone.

"Look," she says. "The paw paws are nearly ripe."

I inhale their tropical musk 

and reach for her hand.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Fireblossom Fridays, Lights, Camera, Love!

Forgotten Roads

Big Sky Road by Ella Wilson

You love to walk the forgotten roads,

the ones with weedy, overgrown shoulders

and missing road signs,

orphaned roads

that let you turn down the volume

on the clatter and chatter,

 feel the earth under your feet

and watch cloud shapes coalesce above.

Forgotten roads

let you take time

to remember

your name.

They don't hurry you

to get anywhere;

they honor you

right where you are.

Even as the milky clouds 

grow ashen and somber,

you walk.

You walk 

as raindrops tease,

then course down in a cavalry of wet.

In the petrichor

you smell the birth of another chance

and feel yourself

cleansed of artifice,

shining like a new penny

on the asphalt.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Ella's Edge

Like Water

photo by lolamouse 8/12

You run like water

down the path of least resistance

to my lowest point

honing in

on the nadir of my insecurities

and doubts

Given enough time

even a trickle 

wears down granite

A trifle

becomes malignant

insistent and insidious

turning solid mass

tenuous

I believe it is time

to dam you

 to damn you.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night #58
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

High Tailin' It Outta Here

Fear not, my little lovelies. The Mouse will return after a break from this wretched Southern MD heat. We will be visiting the lovely Pacific Northwest for about a week, and I will have little to no internet access, so things around my blogs will be quiet as...A MOUSE! (Boo, hiss)

August Hangs

I'm off to hopefully get some relief from this hellish Southern MD weather. I'll open comments back up when (if!) I return.

Wolves

source

Hold me tight

I hear the wolves at my door

Please don't leave me alone now

I do not have the strength to fight

I hear the wolves at my door

I knew they would come for me

But do not have the strength to fight

I am depleted

I knew they would come for me

Strong seeks out strong

But I am depleted

From taming your monsters

Strong seeks out strong

So I will face the fangs

Tamed, your monsters

Sleep now

I will face the fangs

But please don't leave me alone

Sleep now, but

Hold me tight.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Form for All, Pantoum
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Wolf Is Getting Married

Kiss Mor Chiks

I'm bummed. I wanna show my support but I'm married to a great GUY! Anyone in the St. Mary's, MD area tomorrow wanna give a straight girl a peck?

Maybe She Will

image by Zelko Nedic

She comes to me in dreams real as Earth

Divine succubus

Her silken wings become my blindfold

Her ebony tresses my chains

I, her servant of the midnight,

willingly succumb to her spell

From my mind's mad stirrings

emerges a wild hope

a plea I dare not voice

(Maybe she will stay)

Evil enchantress

She hears my thoughts 

 leaves her calling card-

 black dog with eyes of fire

Now I know that it is I

who will be going soon.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 128