The Cook

She’s in the kitchen
cleaning, prepping
sweetness, wishes

to nurture childlike
longings – sugar laden
gifts, honeyed chops

hooks her men with
culinary preciseness –
as legend prescribes

wants a strong, reliable
type to stir her ovaries
keep her dishing up love

Disappointment, like raw egg
drips off china plates –
shame of misadventures
she cannot scrub away

only serves tea now –
the smell of liquor
mingled with cigarettes
in lecherous calloused
hands turns her stomach

avoids the coffee maker
in the same way, despises
the way the bitter brew
makes her head spin –
wits need to be in order

has settled now as hostess
caters to near strangers
whose attention, riveted
by television screens, are

lulled by the rhythmic
sounds of her sanitizing
while stew simmers in pot,
dreams of romance shelved.

(Originally titled “Hatched”, this poem first appeared here in July, 2017. I am submitting an edited version for Reena’s Xploration challenge: Stranger in a strange land. Image my own)

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Tender Hearts Fall

Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking intention

Here’s a man, fiery
eyes, hands coarse,
face leather, smoky
words coaxing affection

Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn

The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him

The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face, slow, seductive
draws her into his mystery

She is a two-headed lamb
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a srtaight line

Hormones raging at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice

Two paths, she thinks
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided

The man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her –
a dead-end street

Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough, tainted?

She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.

(Decided to resurrect this old poem for Eugi’s Weekly Prompt: romance. Image my own.)

A Feathered Fable

Statuesque as a Great Blue Heron,
she wades silently, patiently,
her long-necked beauty,
and generous wingspan,
testament to a tender soul.

She dreams of a mate
who can unfold her,
carry her to new heights.

Rustling in a nearby bush,
she encounters a partridge –
shorter than her, and
rotund, his countenance grey.

She is drawn to the candour
of his misery, how vilely
he has been misplaced –
his wife and nest robbed by
another, more showy beast.

Pity masks itself as kinship
and as love does, she dons
blinders, ignores the fact that
he prefers ground dwelling,
tells herself she will adapt
to his packs, learn his ways

Once dreamt of a mate
who could unfold her,
carry her to new heights.

Her shoulders slump, and
she draws her neck in now,
wings forgetting how to soar –
she is diminishing in the
confines of a single field

while her Partridge mate,
remains a partridge –
only fatter.

(Written for dVerse pub, hosted by Björn tonight, who challenges us to use metaphor. I might have got carried away…oh, well, excuse me while I flock off.)

Conned

Even as fingers – swift
and seductive – thieved,
she moaned invitation,
ignored the warnings

so eager to please,
so hungry for love

He didn’t need a weapon –
the flash of iced blue eyes
and a throaty whisper
rendered her compliant

so eager to please,
so hungry for love

He was pro, conscience
numbed by a list of victims –
so many wasted lives,
faceless towns left behind

so eager to please,
so hungry for love

She blamed it on the passion –
the sudden confusion, misplacing
things, money – her thoughts
blinders set on a glowing future

so eager to please,
so hungry for love

Blamed herself in the aftermath,
would rather he’d used a knife,
slashed her body – violence
less shameful than this

so eager to please,
so hungry for love.

Plateaus

The quest for love
an uphill climb,
the footholds
loose and failing

Scrapes heal, and
hearts yearning
begin again, forget
the falls, aspire

Unconditional love
a dizzying height,
soulmates and
pre-destination

Goals for romantics,
by my heart reaches
for a memory, a return
to the beginning

When kisses warm
and embraces strong
conveyed desirability,
love’s reverence a peak

much steeper to attain
when age, in its folly
lusts after a youth’s game,
time a cruel intervener.

Tender Hearts Fall

Here’s a boy, tender
and raw, heart exposed
awkward innocence
blocking his intention

Here’s a man, eyes fiery
coals, hands coarse ,
face leather,  smoky
words coaxing affection

Here’s a girl, book smart
heart uncertain, romance
a fluttery desire, caught
between the two, torn

The boy averts his eyes
fears she’ll see the raging
in his loins, read obsession
in his longing, reject him

The man takes her hand,
softly traces the outline
of her face; slow, seductive,
draws her into his mystery

She is a two-headed lamb,
ponders the breadth of
the boy’s shoulders, knows
his future is a straight line

Hormones rage at man’s
touch, the way his eyes
devour her, the magical
nuances in his voice

Two paths, she thinks,
two diverging outcomes;
the boy holds himself erect
feels his fate is decided

the man lays his head
in her lap, thick waves
of black thrilling her
skin – a dead-end street

Is it pride that makes
the boy look away, she
wonders, or am I not
good enough – tainted?

She turns to the older
man, smiles, pull him
to her and surrenders,
darkness a familiar place.

(Image:  mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)