She Makes the Flowers Bloom at Night

source

She makes the flowers bloom at night

She borrows magic from the moon

Collecting stars, she holds their light

and makes the midnight shine like noon.

Pale luna moth from dark cocoon

seeks out her flaming auburn hair.

Enchanted girl with shoulders bare,

unnamed goddess, who can she be?

I would be lifted from despair

if she would shine her light on me.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, A Mini Challenge for Sunday, The Prince (Dizain)

Elixir of Summer Rain

source

The buzzing of cicadas in the night

As bats begin to circle through the air

The song of the spring peepers trills so light

When day's frenetic pace turns laissez-faire

Black crickets chirrup secrets we can't share

A barred owl calls "Who cooks for you?" unseen

An echo seems to answer from somewhere

On silent wings they fly off to convene

In pools of water plunk proud frogs of green

Shy deer emboldened rustle through the wet

Leaves in the summer rain glow with a sheen

And darkest nights shine as if polished jet

This magic fills each drop of summer rain

An anodyne to ease the winter's pain

submitted for Think Tank Thursday, #107 Sound, at Poets United
and Poetry Jam, Do You Believe in Magic?

source

I, Mouse (Redux)

I am just a mouse

But cross me at your own risk

Quiet but deadly

Persistent as a toothache

Scritch, scritch, I'll gnaw down your walls

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

Black and White

Franz Kline, Figure Eight, 1952

You lay the strokes with confidence

a master calligrapher

Awed

I watch as you create the piece

I think I know where the next brushstroke will land

but you change course

following a sketch that only you can see

(or is it all improvisation?)

You say questions of perception versus reality are pointless

that we can argue endlessly about interpretation

but it really comes down to black and white:

Either I believe you 

or I don't

I don't.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 127

and Poetic Bloomings, #65 Betrayal

and Poets United, Poetry Pantry #107

Wicked

Eve and Lilith by favoritecolour

You can tempt me with the apple
You can tempt me with the core
Cause once I've had a taste of you
You leave me wanting more

I swallow down a mouthful
While most spit out the seeds
Your forked tongue beside my ear
Bespeaks most evil deeds

When I hear the hell hounds howl
I dress myself in night
I climb into your bed while
Their dark eyes glow like whores' lights

You can tempt me with the bones
Or with the blood or with the skin
Cause it don't take much tempting
For this wicked child to sin.

submitted for Fireblossom Friday, The Devil, You Say! at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

In the Red

submitted for Summer of Color2, Ice Cream Inspirations, Watermelon Ice at Twinkle, Twinkle

Yesterday's Dreams

Yesterday's Dreams by Jack Vettriano

Fine cracks form

in the porcelain of your face

as you suck on another cigarette

Already the ashtray is full of pink stained blooms

ground in the dirt and squashed underfoot

You have only a few more good years left

to find someone to love you

So it's the black dress and heels again

and out the door for drinks

Turning your back on the one 

who has loved you all along

and cries himself to sleep.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 126

Urban Angel

Inspired by Rosie Hardy's photography again!

image by Rosie Hardy

Dryad

photo by Rosie Hardy

Come to the forest

Come when your heart is as full as the moon

and your desire blazes like a shooting star

Do not fear the sentries;

 they observe your entry

but ignore trespass

when intent is pure

Search out the message that I have written for you

in the trivialities of veins in the leaves

Read its significance

with your fingertips

You have always touched wood

wishing

I am waiting 

with your answer.

submitted for Poets United, Vice Versa #6

and Poetry Jam, Daydream Believers

Wild Woman Poet

2012 featured poet at
my heart’s love songs

I am so honored to be included this month as a featured poet on one of my favorite poetry blogs. Dani, at My Heart's Love Songs, has been diligently working to showcase some wonderful women poets, and she has graciously included my mouseness with these other rockin' ladies! Check out my entry as well as the entire series so far. You'll be glad you did!

And a big thank you and hug to dani!!!

Broken Glass

cigarettes and broken glass by viewfinder

I have learned to walk on broken glass

how to step lightly and quietly

I no longer cry out

when the pieces slice my feet

Shhh

Quiet now

I use the blood to paint

my nails a happy crimson for you

Watch me dance on

the shards

How useful are the scars

I can pirouette

as slivers burrow

into my toes

and I feel nothing.

submitted for dVerse Poets Pub, Open Link Night Week #52

Pondering Art

Jackson Pollock #5

submitted for Poets United, Thursday Think Tank #104, Jackson Pollock

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, A Word With Laurie-Demarcation

and for you film buffs, I highly recommend:

banksyfilm.com

This is the inside story of Street Art - a brutal and revealing account of what happens when fame, money and vandalism collide. Exit Through the Gift Shop follows an eccentric shop-keeper turned amateur film-maker as he attempts to capture many of the world's most infamous vandals on camera, only to have a British stencil artist named Banksy turn the camcorder back on its owner with wildly unexpected results.

One of the most provocative films about art ever made, Exit Through the Gift Shop is a fascinating study of low-level criminality, comradeship and incompetence.
By turns shocking, hilarious and absurd, this is an enthralling modern-day fairytale... with bolt cutters.

Strawberry Lemonade

Kristen of Twinkle, Twinkle is hosting the second round of Summer of Color. This week's
challenge is Strawberry Lemonade. She based all of the challenges on ice cream inspirations.
(Thanks to Ella, of Ella's Edge, for posting about this cool challenge!)

First, some playing around with some of my photos and Pic Monkey (such an addicting program!)

and now, a poem...

Bonne Belle flavors

latched on belt loops

Maybeline kissing potion

tucked into back pockets of tight jeans

Strawberry lemonade lips

glossed and giddy

pink and pretty

shiny and shy

Could boys' kisses ever taste as sweet?

submitted for Summer of Color, Week Four, Strawberry Lemonade

Make It Stop!

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Out of Standard With Izy ,we are  to parody our own poetic style. I have been told that many of my poems are "bleak." I also tend to write quite a bit about having migraines. So, for fun, I wrote a bit of migraine hyperbole (just a bit!)

My head

an overripe melon 

strains 

against its skin

 I'm on my knees

praying

 puking

 rebuking the gods of PAIN

PAIN

PAIN
Ice pick through my brain

My eyes recoil

from the burn

of the LIGHT

I'm losing the fight

to retain my sanity

and my humanity

as I crumble to a mass

of retching wretched uselessness

Dangerous Things

Hodnot Spring House, Leakin Park, Baltimore, MD

Deep in the woods where black gum grow

Where children should not go

We have a place that is our own

The grown ups never know

When we go back into our woods

Adult rules don't belong

What we do we do as one

and we are never wrong

Some things you just don't speak of

Some things best left unsaid

You keep some secrets your whole life

They die on your death bed

The gang it always will protect

We watch out for our pack

But if you strike out on your own

you better watch your back

What we see in the woods that day

No one knows what's true

In the creek lay silently

a man that we all knew

Around his head the blood it pools

an accident we said

We leave him there right in the creek

Cause we know dead is dead

 

Some things you just don't speak of

Some things best left unsaid

You keep some secrets your whole life

They die on your death bed

(inspired by the book The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman)

In Death

Ophelia by Odilon Redon

In Death she makes a lovely bride

A face as gentle as a child

Her brazen eyes no longer wild

In spirit always by my side

Although I weep, I'm yet beguiled

Her magic she does still retain

In Death her beauty does not wane

but now my jealousy grows mild

For Love she can no longer feign

Her lying heart has stopped its beat

She now lies free of guile, deceit

The perfidy that was her bane

In Death, how chaste, how true, demure

She is an angel, perfect, pure.

submitted for The Mag, Mag 124