The Writer Sleeps

Image by Luis Beltrán

Image by Luis Beltrán

 

The writer sleeps…

Her dreams are home

To stories of such wonder

That could she grasp their truths,

Her pen would never leave the page again.

 

Grey matter feeds

Encrypted hope,

Its secrets — yet to plunder.

The unexpected soothes:

A journeyman’s respite in the inane.

 

So strange this land;

Dispelled by dawn

Its debris — buried under

The roast of coffee beans,

Like every morning’s rite of the insane.

 

Yet all the same,

The writer sleeps…

 

*

DailyPost: Mouths Wide Shut

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The Serpent’s Kiss

Lovers and falling rain 1996 61x46cm

This ashen tongue…

It slithers through deceit 

Like dreams of silk

Over the morning mist.

Your mouth tastes of promise;

It shimmers over mine

Until synapses burst

And blind, I cannot sift

Away the beauty from its lies.

An angel born of darkness;

Your dagger rooted in my spleen…

Around its icy blade I twist

Until my bowl bejewels yours

With tears of ruby warmth.

Yours is the serpent bite,

And mine… the rift. 

*

Daily Prompt: Moved to Tears

Secrets in Indigo

Painting | My Summer Wine by Adrian Borda

Painting | My Summer Wine by Adrian Borda

 

You carved into my skin

The promise of a bruise

And I have watched it bloom

Into a sigh.

My body veils in silence

Each indigo – a secret

That longs for your caress

To mellow,

Else to die.

And when the snow falls red

Onto my cheeks displaced

By kisses inked in rain,

I shatter days:

The ones replete of beauty,

Those fashioned into hailstones…

All left for you to salvage. 

Your loss 

To set ablaze.

*

Weekly Writing Challenge: Mystery Ending

Of Truth and Spleen

photography: Dystopia by Ian Hemingway

photography: Dystopia by Ian Hemingway

 

I cower at your feet – 

A docile body – 

With no thoughts of its own

But those of your creation.

Identity depleted 

Of jagged edges all:

I am like him

And he is like the next.

In this – our condition –

Of quieted un-freedom 

We are amalgams of the same.

Are these the truths you seek?

Are we – such things of pity –

That you crave power over?

Yet know that yours won’t be

The only truth to reign

And we shall turn

The tide against itself.

And should our power fail us

We shall imagine sabres –

Or teeth of steel –

To give home to our spleen.

 

*

Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun List Twist

2. Your nouns. Create a list of at least ten nouns. (If you can think of more, great, you’ll have more nouns to choose from.) Write a new piece using at least five of the nouns on your list.

My list: Modernity, Freedom, Identity, Creation, Condition, Action, Rulers, Power, Truth, Existence.

Through the Trapdoor

Starry Night by Jorge Maia

Starry Night by Jorge Maia

 

The night is late.

Waves flutter at my feet with memories of light:

Belated stars, perhaps elsewhere extinguished. 

I’ve watched whole universes pass

Across the canvas of the sky

And melt away beyond the lake’s horizon.

 

And still you did not come.

 

Soon will be dawn.

The cricket’s song will die away 

And the ravine whence they have made my bed

Will paint its shadows silent.

Beneath this bloodied scythe I’m set to rest,

Never to rise again or feel this life’s embrace.

 

And still you did not come.

*

 

Weekly Writing Challenge: The Ray Bradbury Noun List Twist

  1. Bradbury’s sample noun list. Write a new piece using at least five of the nouns from Bradbury’s sample list, above: The lake. The night. The crickets. The ravine. The attic. The basement. The trapdoor. The baby. The crowd. The night train. The fog horn. The scythe. The carnival. The carousel. The dwarf. The mirror maze. The skeleton.

A Coin for the Journey

Moonlight Bay by MovingStill

Moonlight Bay by MovingStill

Without the tempest howls,

Leaves rust: dreams claimed by dust.

The heart is fickle

And from this world of damaged things

It shies away, embracing in its stead 

The promise of tomorrows. Endless lies…

For this one dawn may well be too, your last.

Weeks, hours, mere seconds –

The naiads of our age –

Are ruthless in their passing …

Take hold then of my hand, my heartbeat measure.

‘Tis hidden in the pulse within my wrist:

Here lies my time

In memory absconded.

I’ve gambled it away and now too late

Have learnt to prize its value.

Let go. No… Stay with me a while.

This, my diminished life, will presently depart.

How bright this moon…

Could linger here a lifetime

To feel its golden sheen upon my cheek.

How sweet the scent of lilies in the air,

And listen to the ripple of that wave…

Is that the sound of a paddle slicing through?

The ferryman will reach our shore anon.

A coin for the journey,

If you will.

*

Daily Prompt: 190 Days Later

 

 

Speckles of Life

baby sea turtle run by fyeah-seacreatures

baby sea turtle run by fyeah-seacreatures

New life

Enclosed in the palm of my hand

Burrowing through.

The shell

Of a love story hatched amid

Sand dunes and surf.

Alight

From my fingers’ grieving embrace

To the billows;

And seek

Under starlight, shimmied paths new

To guide your return.

*

Daily Prompt: Back to Life