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

Restraint

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.