The Wait

pink tinged lake
Photo – L. Burton

I watched her standing at the water’s edge
wondered just how deep her shallowness flowed
and the way her insecurities bled.

Pink-tinged skies and gnarled branches seem to wedge
the perfect place to drown one’s own sorrows.
I watched her standing at the water’s edge.

Her presence is wrong here, the shore alleged,
I took note of the passing light she stole

and the way her insecurities bled.

Black crow, broken wing, secrets they’ll dredge
up from the bottom of her very soul. 

I watched her standing at the water’s edge.

To only him, undying love she pledged
spent too much time watching her slip below
and the way her insecurities bled.

Started to leave before the cold truth said,
“she’d annoy the water from her lungs” so
I watched her standing at the water’s edge 
and the way her insecurities bled.

 

Advertisements

Moonbeam Dreams

Silver light caresses the night, for                                      
it knows the shapes we make, the
smooth shadows of a forever
moon
glide over limbs entwined, never 
will this love fade.  On shimmering beams
a sensual dance, an echoing serenade w
ithout
pause lingers along with a heady perfume
bringing
a searing bloom that leaves you and me  
breathless in the glow of moonbeam dreams.

 

Forgotten Better Days – Bop with Jilly

I took up Jilly’s excellent half-poem (her words are in bold) for the Casting Bricks August Challenge.  Bop on over there for more on the challenge and the form.

 

FORGOTTEN BETTER DAYS (a Bop)

Smoke gathers round the rim of my coffee cup
remnants of the skirmish in my untouched bowl of cereal
your suitcase sits by the door, the new leather one
not the weary worn green canvas with tags from our trip
to Paris last summer
leaving me with a million

Forgotten better days and a badly written play

Blurred words seep through the wall
you on the phone with some unknown
bitter pill, I can’t breathe
past the lump in my throat and the ache in my heart
the ragged corner of the playbill haunts
me from underneath a stack of fancy invitations I’ll never send;
sliding it out, the irony singes my cold fingers
Le Dîner de Cons
 
Forgotten better days and a badly written play 

Darkened room closes in as you cross to the door
tilting my world a deeper shade of sorrow

too many words left unsaid
no turning back when you make it look so easy
quiet moments turn to suffocate memories 
I toss the photo of us smiling with the bistro in the background.

Forgotten better days and a badly written play.

Collaborative poetry – Jilly/Lynn

Sunflower

sunflower sunsetPhoto – L. Burton

Follow the sun’s path, golden rays  
light up the days  
stretch to the sky    
stand tall and fly.

Powder blue canvas ready vase   
caress your face
kiss the morning
fields adoring. 
 
When the darkness covers your head
and blue bleeds red 
stars all around     
fall to the ground.

 

dVerse – Frank is hosting and challenges the pub to write a Minute Poem.