The Lies We Tell

He recalls we were gorgeous,
pleased me like an egg – fast

Why lie to men about
what blow must skin cry?

We are black from mist above moan,
I bare my drive as pink,

sit through summer of aching,
show my gown sweet…

though never did sleep.

(Fridays are magnetic poetry.  Find it online at magnetic poetry.com.  Love it if you’d join me.)

Routes

No straight road,
no easy, out of the pod,
solutions – complexity,
it seems, reigns.

I travel circular paths
past ancient structures –
having erected statues
to past wounds – present
walls barely standing.

Unseen forces drive –
societal angst,  perhaps –
know only that life
is possibility, and I
sorrowfully lag.

(Written for Twenty Four’s 50 Word Thursday, with help from the daily prompts of Fandango – easy, and Ragtag Community – pod.  Image supplied by Deb Whittam of Twenty Four.)

Kindergarten Pie

Take a classroom of five-year-olds –
nimble-footed, names unintelligible –
add a dozen runny noses
and three boo-boos
and one unfortunate ‘accident’.

Introduce a teacher –
holiday hazed and overtired –
mix with a controversial curriculum,
a dash of micromanaging parents,
and splash of report cards due.

Blend cautiously,
taking care that all ingredients remain
in the bowl…er…classroom…

Bake for five days,
cool over the weekend.

(I taught Kindergarten for a day and still have nightmares about it, lol.  To all the primary teachers out there – I am not worthy.  You are amazing.  Poem inspired by a recent dream, and written in the spirit of this week’s challenge:  recipe. Challenge is open all week – would love it if you joined in.)

Heart Bleeding

Even lamplight cannot penetrate
the obliteration of blizzard white –
the icy absence between us.

Red was the colour of our passion,
now red is the colour of this box
words spoken in confinement

condensation blurring sensibility –
the muffled sound of ringing,
too cold, too frozen in disbelief

to hang up,
move on,
seek warmth.

(Inspired by the image supplied by Willow Poetry for her weekly challenge: What Do You See?)

Naughty or Nice

Naughty thrilled her –
lacked inhibitions toward elicit,
tantalized by promised ‘nice’

Imagined blood red petals
strewn atop steamy suds,
champagne flutes and
intoxicating entanglements.

Fantasies never ran to
infested walls crumbling
in barren captivity –

his version of naughty
turned her blood to ice
nothing about the scenario ‘nice’.

(Tonight is the last Open Link night at the dVerse pub for 2018, hosted by Grace.  I am submitted this poem, inspired by the prompts of Manic Mondays 3 Way Prompt, and Twenty Four’s 50 word Thursday.  Image provided by Deb Whittam of Twenty Four.)