Haunted

Haunted

My light, disturbed sleep
Fraught with your vague, blurred image
Soft breath wakens me
No longer a yearned-for dream
Your spirit haunts my true realm


*This poem, my first attempt at the poetic form of  Tanka, is in response to Saturday Celebration at One Stop Poetry.

Heavenly Goddess

Heavenly Goddess


The moon imagined her hair
impossibly long,
a wild, icy white in the biting breeze.


Her piercingly blue eyes
aglow amidst the jungle
of wintry, white stars.


Pale, slender limbs
entangled in the heavens
as she pointed accusingly earthward


Denouncing her impotent subjects.
Holding them to burden
for her every shameless indiscretion.


 My entry for both One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry and Day #5 of National Poetry Month at Not Without Poetry. With thanks to  Prompts For Writers for the words which inspired me.

In Good Time

In Good Time


Love comes all in good time
his mother had told him.
But now, as he gazed at the beautiful,
ethereal-looking woman
lying in perfect repose on his bed
he knew it wasn't true.
It was not a good time
to discover he loved her.
He had just murdered her.


*Written for National Poetry Month at Not Without Poetry.

Her Perfect Man

 

Shucking her robe

dressed only in heels and her perfect, gleaming skin

she gazed raptly, but calculatingly, at her creation.

Her perfect man.

She had brought him to vital, breathing life

only a brief week before.

Every night out since had been a dream.

Her perfect man.

No matter where she chose to go, what she chose to do

he was the ideal date.

Would, forever, be the flawless companion.

Her perfect man.

This evening would be no different

Another unmatched social event.

Her escort was already impeccably dressed

The only question remaining now-

Voicing her most immediate concern-

"What face shall I give him this evening?"

She had narrowed her choices to six

Perfectly aligned along the top of her bureau

all awaiting her final decision.

Humming softly

she filed her nails and considered

the possibilities before her,

pausing for a moment with a slight frown

to adjust the almost imperceptible

slant to his otherwise faultless bow tie.

Her perfect man.

*This poem was written in response to a prompt by Kirsty Logan at Not Without Poetry for National Poetry Month.