Wrong Turn

What is it about summer
eases our defences –
was it lazy, hot afternoons
or smouldering, hazel eyes?

I ask myself again and again,
cannot remember who I was
before I took that fateful risk –
joy of youth extinguished.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Cryptic

Is the writing on the wall so cryptic?
Graphic images depict rage
flames of dissonance
young men bleeding at their own hands
compassion incapacitated.

A sad awakening
for a society fixated
on rights and privileges,
dominating culture
excluding the nurture
of humanity,
or preservation of life.

How can we continue
to closet our children’s pain –
their vitality oozing –
hopelessly abandoned
by morality’s shelter?

It is the wall,
not the spatters
of blood upon it,
which needs amending –
adolescent minds too tender
to wade through
the cryptic priorities –
messages divided.

(Cryptic first appeared here May 2018. Edited here. Image my own.)

First Kiss

Dock sitting
past midnight
parental drone
humming in distance

Two silhouettes
haloed in moonlight
I lean in, heart pounding
your lips brush my forehead

Nothing more…
Nevermind! I blurt
scrambling to leave
rejection a soul tattoo

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own. Care to join me and write about your first kiss?
Drop me a link so I don’t miss it.)

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.)

Summer Love

Waves lap in rhythm with my heart
midnight sky bewitches, stars sing,
hand-in-hand our spirits soar
pulses dancing to the seduction
of love’s enchantment –

Tonight the ambiance possesses us
tonight boundaries have no hold
we are moon-crazed innocence
warmed by mysterious stirrings
sand shifting beneath naked soles.

(For Eugi’s Causerie Weekly challenge: bewitched. Image my own.)