Tempted

photo by lolamouse

The web of temptation has you ensnared
You say it is woven of beautiful thread
Enticed by the scent of her silky soft lair
She marks you as willing prey ripe for her bed

You didn't think she could have such an allure
You thought you were too smart and too strong to tempt
But she played you so well when she acted demure
You fell like the others; you were not exempt

Despite your regret, she still does captivate
As you're spun tight in lies, she goes in for the bite
You curse yourself for being seduced by her bait
You wish for escape, but it's too late, goodnight.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Temptation
One Shot Wednesday at One Shot Poetry

White Mice

photo courtesy of Rosie Hardy

...and then they led her back to her cell. Her eyes burned; her skin itched. Yellow pus oozed out of a hastily sewn incision on her abdomen. As they locked the door behind her and crawled off, she thought she heard them say, "Don't worry. Their brains are so tiny, they can't feel any pain."

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

Sonnet For Living

For the last Friday Poetically, Brian has asked us to write a poem about an organization or cause that has meaning to us. This poem is about hospice, where I volunteer. It's a wonderful organization that assists individuals and families who are dealing with an incurable illness or injury. Hospice believes that people have the right to die pain-free and with dignity and ensures that families will receive the necessary support to allow patients to do so. They also provide bereavement services to grieving individuals and families. Go volunteer!

 

We need not fear to speak Death's name

She pays no heed to our affairs

For speaking of Death holds no blame

And doing so may ease our cares

We come together in our pain

With grief that one alone can't bear

And pray to feel some hope again

Our burdens lift when we can share

Remind us there is life to live

Although Death follows close behind

We each give all we have to give

To make this Hell a bit more kind

On journeys we can't understand

Sometimes it helps to hold a hand

submitted for Friday Poetically at One Stop Poetry

Storm

People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

Quickly carry the boat back to shore

Black is the sky, the waves are high

The Hyades cry in grief

The Pleiades are dark

We plead with the gods

Heavens rain down

Atlas weak

Save our 

Souls

submitted for Magpie Tales 73

and for Form Monday, Nonet,  at One Stop Poetry

Cat's Eye

image courtesy of Bonnie

You are a most lovely prima ballerina

And most befitting the role, my dear

Never mind the "teacher's pet" talk

Idle chatter

I bow to your majesty

Humbly play understudy to your lead

Purr with satisfaction just to

Snake my body through your lithe legs

As you bestow a gentle scratch behind the ear

From your exalted fingers

Heavens no!

That was not a hiss but a purr of bliss!

My sweet ballerina,

Let not my eyes cause you dismay

This jade green is not envy

But my inherent way

I have nine lives

And you, but one

So enjoy your fortune while you are able

For you will not be the ingenue forever

Oh, am I being catty?

I will put away my claws then

And applaud your success

Perhaps in another life

I shall steal your breath away

submitted for Friday Poetically at One Stop Poetry

Black and Blues

Got them black and blues weighing down on me
Got them black and blues and I ain't never gonna be free
'Cause my man, he be drinkin', and black and blue all I'm ever gonna be

Well, black and blues are the color of my shame
Yeah, black and blues since I took that man's last name
Got myself drunk on his sweet words, have only my fool self to blame

Promised the preacher I'd love that man til death do us part
I promised the preacher I'd keep that man til death do us part
Some days I be so low, feel like I'm already dead down in my heart

I'm singin' the black and blues 'cause my man done hurt me again
Singin' the black and blues 'cause I'm black and blue again
Gettin' so tired of singin' this same song, these black and blues have gotta end

Well, I'm leavin' town, don't have the black and blues no more
Got my suitcase packed, don't have those black and blues no more
Last night my man was drinkin', shot him when he came through the bedroom door

Yeah, those black and blues ain't never gonna bother me
Oh Lord, them black and blues, I'm finally free

submitted for Form Monday-The Blues at One Stop Poetry by lola "myopic mango" mouse

Icarus Also Flew

photo courtesy of Chris Galford

Paint cans in hand

We rule the night.

Urban fireflies we burn

Bright. We buzz

We hum. We leave

Our mark against the sky.

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.

The day is not so kind.

Hot sun burns our skin.

Hot words spit in faces

Burn our spirits to ash

Black as the streets where

We escape.

See our words erased

Our images whitewashed.

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.

Sundown comes.

Night calls us like a pheromone.

Paint cans in hand

We stretch our wings, aching to fly.

Some day they'll see us.

Some day we'll reach the sun.

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

Please Leave a Message

photo courtesy of Rob Hanson

She dials the number

Ring, ring, click

Hello. You have reached...

Closes her eyes and listens to his voice

We are not able to take your call right now...

The kids say it's morbid, like hearing a ghost

But to her, his voice is like

a warm blanket 

and her bed is so cold

Please leave a message after the tone...

I miss you, she tells him.

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

The Writing On the Wall

image source

My 'hood is my canvas
I paint what I feel
Some day I'll be famous                                      
My art is for real

Don't bother no churches
I got more respect
Do more than just taggin'
Ain't what you suspect

You can't buy my art
I do it for me
It don't have a price tag
Don't mean that it's free

My work is raw
It's a force you can't tame
But don't think it ain't art
Cuz it ain't in a frame

These walls are my body
They are most forgiving
They wear my blood proudly
My graff shows I'm living

submitted for One Stop Poetry and the Arts, Graffiti, at One Stop Poetry

Shades of Summer Red

photo courtesy of Poetry Jam

Fizzy cold Cherry Splash soda

if we are really lucky or

Sugary sweet red Kool Aid

bright enough to stain our lips

if it's for us

Watered down to a paler vintage
to sell for 3 cents a Dixie Cup
from the Radio Flyer wagon

Come evening the booty is exchanged 
for cherry popsicles 
from the Good Humor man

We never have the patience to save up

for the Strawberry Shortcake bars 
we really covet

Skinned knees and scraped elbows

from falling off our bikes

or from playing maul ball 
with the older kids

On occasion, a loose tooth knocked clean out

leaving a bloody hole and bragging rights

The stench of rotting crab apples

squishing under bare feet 

running across the lawn

through the sprinklers

watering  the fire red azaleas

and the bricks on the house fronts

Someone's mom pokes out her head and calls

we scatter

Like gnats being shooed away

Until we gather again

submitted for Poetry Jam

One Shot Wednesday, Week 49,  at One Stop Poetry

Poetry Pantry 52 at Poets United

The Bootmaker

photo courtesy of Rob Hanson

Who will fill his shoes when he is gone?

His dye stained hands are leathery as the hide

The hammering fills the hours from dusk til dawn

He has no one with whom to share his pride.

His daughter left his home in rage and tears

He never even knew that she was wed

Never met his grandson of three years

She tells the kid his grandfather is dead.

The older sons both went to fancy schools

Now they shun the work he does by hand

They have no use for all his simple tools

He does his best to try to understand.

His youngest son is practically a ghost

He's heard some folks refer to him as trash

But he's the one who favors her the most

So when he asks, he always gives him cash.

Who will fill his shoes when he is gone?

Who will tan the leather, cut the size?

The bootmaker keeps working on and on

No one to replace him when he dies.

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

The City

image courtesy of Scott Wyden

For him there was no prom

He walked across the stage at graduation

There were a few claps

And a few more snickers

He packed his bag, hugged his mom

And left

He had no delusions

That he would be better loved

In the city

But at least there

He could find

Places to hide

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

and a belated Friday Flash 55

The Builder

image source

“I build a painting by putting little marks together–some look like hot dogs, some like doughnuts.” – Chuck Close

  Break me down to make me whole

Stand back and admire your skill

Creator, master of control

Break me down to make me whole

 Revealing secrets of my soul

My life essence you distill

Break me down to make me whole

Stand back and admire your skill.

submitted for Friday Poetically at One Stop Poetry

Bitch

image source

Call me whore

I'm not afraid to explore

My sexuality with him

Or with her

But with you, I defer

Your eyes can undress me

But you'll never possess me

Call me bitch

Yeah, that's rich

'Cause I speak my mind

And I'm not always kind

You can't dismiss me

So you try and dis' me

Call me a cunt

'Cause I won't do what you want

I'm nobody's slave

Don't tell me how to behave

You know you can't tame me

And I won't let you shame me

Think I'm a whore you can buy?

Go on, fool, you just try

This bitch'll bark loud

She is smart and she's proud 
I'm not feelin' contrite

This cunt's got teeth that can bite

submitted for May Poetry Challenge, Power, at Verse in a Nutshell
One Shot Wednesday, week 46, at One Stop Poetry

Prince Morphine

photo by Fee Easton

Rode up on your white horse

I was face down in the mud

Said, "Hey, man, wanna buy a girl a drink?"

Offered me your gloved hand

Fixed me up real nice

Asked me to come home with you

I didn't  think twice

I wanted a Prince Charming

But I got you instead

I got Prince Morphine

Sleeping in my bed

Asked for a dozen roses

You tucked a poppy behind my ear

You sing me lullabies until my passion's doused

Your sheets are real soft

But your love makes me itch

I don't feel the pain no more

But I don't feel shit

I wanted a Prince Charming

But I got you instead

I sleep with Prince Morphine

I feel like I'm dead

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

photo prompt by the remarkable Fee Easton

Transitions

image courtesy of Greg Laychak

The homes of old people smell

Of cooked cabbage

And decorative soaps

But that's better than the stale urine

And disinfectant smell

Of nursing homes

I wonder whether they can smell it on themselves

The odor of decay

Dependence

Approaching death

How does the peach tree judge

When a peach has passed from lush to

Overripe to

Rot?

Is the peach aware 

Of the moment it will be dropped from the tree

To the ground below?

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry

If a Teardrop

 This week at Friday Poetically, we were challenged by Brian to compose a poem from a list of words used in Shel Silverstein's poem One Inch Tall.

If a teardrop were a balloon

Carried to school, loved, a blue friend

Whispered to before you go to sleep tonight

Soon...magic!

From blue to green, yellow, sunny

Only a dream?

Go try!

 

submitted to Friday Poetically at One Stop Poetry

London Daydream

image courtesy of James Rainsford

Touchdown at Heathrow

London love affair is born

Oxford aspirations

West End wishes

Topped with chocolate sponge pudding

 Her rural southern roots

Confine her

Like a prisoner in a tower

She dreams of escaping Underground

To emerge speaking the Queen's English

"Stop"? 

Oh no. She's just beginning.

submitted for One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry
also for Poetry Potluck-Favorite Things

Hands

Withered hands

Pull at her sweater

Claw buttons

Uselessly

She cries tears of frustration

Nurse asks, "What hurts, hon?"

submitted for Monday One Stop Poetry Form at One Stop Poetry

ISO

image courtesy of Lauren Randolph

ISO

Girl with red shoes and green balloon

Saw you steal it from birthday party as you walked by fence

You also stole my heart

Please meet me for stale birthday cake

Friday, 8 p.m.

Same location

To return heart

Or give me yours in exchange

It only seems fair

Reply: Boy with white sneakers

The above is my first attempt at a Flash 55. 

submitted for One Shot Wednesday, Week 41 at One Stop Poetry