Words By the Ocean

Promises were made by the ocean,
where sweet and salt met
and flowed into each other.
Promises began earlier,
marked during the passage of the sun
and affirmed in the fullness of the moon.

I unbound my hair then,
allowing my curls to express themselves.
I whispered a promise to the stars,
unaware they could and would
answer back.

Smooth stones paid witness,
to the power of the elements
to change things,
and to my words.

Perhaps today I would
be able to hear them ask,
“Do you know what it is you promise?”
But of course today I would answer,
“I do.” 

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at A Dash of Sunny, Take Me to the Ocean

Roaring Like the Twenties

Baby vamp you’re the bee’s knees.
It may be the rum running the show,
but you’re the most scintillating thing
in this juice joint.

You can’t spell scintillate
without sin.
Sin ‘til eight?
Let’s sin past 1, 2 or 3.

Say, let’s sin like it’s goin' out of style.
The real sin would be letting you go,
before the sun’s had a chance,
to see your smile.

Song Choice: Let's Misbehave

This post was inspired Imaginary Garden With Real Toad's Weekend Mini-prompt: Fashion Me Your Words, Pierrot Grenade, a group I have happily become an official part of. Hop on over for some more witty word play from my fellow Toads. 

Spring Thaw

Ice transformed by sun

into gold rivulets

with sunlight playing
on the surface

flow down streets
and onto earth,

nudging spring

into being.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Micro-poetry challenge. 

A Likely Story

I think of a world without myth,
and it horrifies me.
A world with no dragons or phoenixes,
no demons or angels,
seems bland.

Oh, I know it will do for some.
And even for others,
it's a fine thing
to believe in a unicorn
encased firmly behind bars,
so long as it’s not free
to go roaming around willy-nilly.

I don’t understand myth’s hold on me.
Its power to captivate
hasn’t waned in the slightest.
I am as enthralled now
as I was when I was young.
The only difference is
the enchantment is stronger.

At home in myth's forest
I explore familiar paths,
losing myself in their wildness.
Maenad mad,
I kiss myth fully on the mouth,
hoping to get
one more story. 

This poem was inspired by the prompt given by A Dash of Sunny, Myth


I know you are there, 
and the world stops.
It has to, you see.
There are too many things
pushing me, pulling me,
demanding me,
and all I can do is make sure
to save the spaces for you.

Those moments are far too few;
it’s like pointing to the moss in a sidewalk crack
calling it a garden.
Yet, they sustain me.
Here I breathe.
Here I burn.

The world starts again in those moments,
our world.
Words and sounds
sealed up in the old one
rush from me.

I cannot stop touching you.
My skin too long denied
the presence of your hands and lips
has its own demands to make,
yet delights in yielding
to the desires of yours.

Too soon
we return to where we were.
And delight must give way
to sensible adulthood,
littered with busyness.
But it only lasts,
until the next time
the world stops again,
when we can sate ourselves once more.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at A Dash of Sunny.

Cannibal Diner

I find feral smiles intriguing,
especially the bits and pieces
of meat left sticking between the teeth.

You’ve dribbled a bit.
It’s just a rusty dot
on the front of your shirt
matching a blob
on your napkin.

I’m not the first to watch you eat.
Though I’m certain
I’m one of the few that observe.
Observation leads to fascination.
That’s where many get into trouble.

Fascination may lead to
softening the harsh lines
so clearly delineated by napkin stains,
perhaps even make
one want to trust.

I see where trust would get me.
It’s right there between your teeth.
I intend to be the only one leaving this table.
And I have plenty of floss in my purse

for afterwards.

This poem was inspired by the prompt given over at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Carpe Jugulum

It Depends

So much depends upon
the ability to screw up royally,

to lose the fight
which should have easily been won,
to rob Muddville of its joy.

So when you look at your kids
with their scuffed knees,
crossed arms,
and their insistence
that it’s just too much,
you can stand up on sore legs,
and a crooked smile. 

You can honestly say,
Then say,

This poem is inspired by the prompt given at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, Red Wheelbarrow Challenge. 

Also By Request

A couple of days ago I posted my recording of a poem based on which one had received the most votes by you lovely folks. While My Parent's One Moment of Whimsy was the clear winner, Faerie Song inspired such a passionate response, I felt as long as I had my microphone out, I ought to record it too. So here it is: