February Blue

I sketch my morning
in pencil lead grey,
not trusting myself with ink
in the pale pink
of dawn.

I turn the coffee on.
Then, the news.
Both brew black,

and my mood swings back
and forth
from navy to cobalt,
from cerulean to indigo,
before settling

on plain old February blue.

For the Wednesday Challenge at Real Toads

Light And Its Lack

It's all light,
and its lack.
Words you can't take back
once they've cleaved a heart.

Shadows and saintliness
mingling
on a single sepia page.

Memories
manufactured
to suit the season.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Erecting A Masterpiece

Inspired by a vintage photo of Andy Warhol at the grocery store, the struggling artist began producing works in the instantly recognizable Pop Art style.

Unfortunately, the "Modern Warhol" movement aroused little interest, and the artist's flaccid sales failed to  rise.

A Magpie Tale

Through Dirty Glass

The moon
is still the moon;
through dirty glass
she glimmers low,
but starshine
has no chance of getting through.

The wind
is still the wind;
through dirty glass
I've watched her blow
the pages of the days -

nothing's new,
nothing's new,
nothing's new.

For Poetics at dVerse
Also submitted to Poetry Pantry

Meditate

Birdsong on a chain
rests between my breasts.
It was all that I could save
when I stumbled
on the nest
in flames.

Bible in my bag.
Knife tucked in my boot.
Sowing both sides of the seed.
Both sides taking root,
so I meditate

on inner peace
and payback.

Other Side Of The Break

With every dream walks
waking just the other side
of day's brittle break.

For the Haiku Challenge - Day 24

Gifts

I come bearing gifts;
loose nimbus hair, perfumed feet,
a single flower.

A single flower
to press between the pages
of my trembling thighs.

Trembling thighs that ache
for your rough, vagabond touch.
I come bearing gifts.

for the Haiku Challenge - Day 23
Also submitted to the "Writing Visual"
prompt at dVerse

Poor John

Enosh Bansode Photography

For her dance,

the King would grant her

anything . . .

Pair o' pretty feet

cost poor John his head, his head.

Pair o' pretty feet.

Pair o' shapely legs,

now poor John is dead, is dead. 

Pair o' shapely legs.

Pair o' swaying hips

cost poor John his head, his head.

Pair o' swaying hips.

Pair o' lying lips,

now poor John is dead, is dead.

Pair o' lying lips.

for the Haiku Challenge - Day 22

Workings

I've got snow too pure to fall,
a shiny silver dollar,
and three vintage shades of moonlight.

I wear Cleopatra's gold
when I walk the dusty road
between your house and mine.

I've got a ripeness to my hips
and the right words on my lips
standing 'neath your porch light.

Coffee in a thermos,
peach pie in a basket,
and the workings of the night.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

Flirtation

Photo by Reena Walkling

Winter wears her lace,

delicate as dying breath,

a bodice loosened

slowly by the sun.

She bares her windswept breasts, but

leaves her stockings on;

her February 

flirtation, a melting dance

without commitment.

For the Haiku Challenge - Day 19

and Poetics at dVerse

Waiting

Apple Blossom's Photography

The weight of waiting

wears on a woman when there's

nothing worth the wait.

For the Haiku Challenge - Day 17

Cutting Words

When every word's a
cutting word, the number of
words doesn't matter.

When every season
is winter only a fool
puts her hope in spring.

When you come after
the last one wanted, every
number's unlucky.

When you come before
desire, you learn desire comes
before everything.

Little Brown Bird

She sings
to still the wind
and stop
her brittle branch
from swaying.

A little brown bird
who strayed
from southern routes
and stayed
near home.

I cup my hands
and call,
"Come!
I'll nest you through
the winter."

But little brown bird
prefers
to brave the wind
and sing alone.

For Open Link Night at dVerse

The Eternal Question

How many licks does 

it take to hit the center

of a Tootsie Pop?

A Magpie Tale

Give Me A Hallelujah!

Blessed black and white!
Rigid lines carefully drawn
save souls . . . from thinking.

GIVE ME A HALLELUJAH!

Save souls from thinking.
Carefully draw rigid lines.
Blessed black and white.

A Naisaiku for the Haiku Challenge: Colors (I chose the colors black and white).
Also submitted to dVerse.

There Will Come A Night

Photo by Talon

There will come a night

when I'll burn your letters

one by one

while sad songs

drift around me

soft as ashes.

That same night

I'll cleanse your kisses

from my lips

with wine

and wash my hands

of this

for good.

Just not tonight.

For the Photo Challenge at Real Toads

In My Hands

These years I've spent collecting bones
have worn my fingerprints away,
and left my hands as smooth as stone,
as blank as id's half-shadowed face.
Without a hint of proof or trace
of truth to who I claim I am,
will you let me in, let me stay,
and feel the story in my hands?

These years I've spent arranging stones
have torn my back and taxed my brain.
Well enough not left alone
creates its own peculiar strain.
And pain creeps in to fill the space
left bare when you've done all you can
to build the barrenness away.
Can you feel the story in my hands?

These years I've spent neglecting home,
I scorn them now as tragic waste.
The time I've lost while I was gone
is time that cannot be replaced.
I run, knowing I'll lose the race
to love, forgive, to understand
and be understood; past erased.
Can you feel the story in my hands?

When all of this has passed away,
may I find what comfort that I can -
all those things that I couldn't say,
you felt the story in my hands.

This is a little loose with rhyme and syllable count, but I think it's still a Ballade.  Submitted to dVerse.

Pick

Picking a lock is

easy.  It's picking the right

lock that's hard to do.

Haiku Challenge - Day 9

Dead Girls

Dead girls don't

wear diamonds or pearls.

Rubies rot

in the dark.

Dead girls polish bones

and call it art.

A Magpie Tale for dVerse

Thoughts

My thoughts are labeled,
boxed, arranged tidily
row by row by row,

except when
I
think about you.


Haiku and Pi-ku (Pikachu?) for the Haiku Challenge
Also submitted to Real Toads

Threadin' The Needle

Google Image

It ain't the mendin' that's hard,

it's threadin' the needle.

If you got that ole cheap thread, 

it frays at the ends

no matter how you lick and twist.

But, even the high-dollar stuff bends like the devil

when you get it to the needle's eye.

You can squint and study

and think you got it all lined up on the straight and narrow,

only to miss it by a mile.

But, whatcha gonna do, but try to get it lined up again?

Ain't gonna be no mendin'

'less you get through the eye of that needle.

Musings Of A Southern Lady

Temptation and Confession

Temptation?
Honey, at my age,
temptation is tarnished silver;
the pretty's still there,
but's it's too much work to get to.

***

I admit that in the past
I was led into temptation
once or twice,
but no more!
These days,
you have to carry me.

***

As for confession,
honey, I'm a Baptist.
We don't believe in confession.
We believe in keeping your mouth shut
till you're caught.

Bless your heart!

For the Fireblossom Friday prompt at Real Toads

Corn Mother

Whisper, Corn Mother.
Call my feet to fallow fields.
Fill my hands with seed.

Teach me, Corn Mother,
songs of earth and second sight
to tend the growing.

Bless me, Corn Mother,
in the ripening of this
furrowed, fertile womb.

According to Cherokee legend, the First Woman is the Corn Mother, goddess of the corn.


Haiku Challenge: Day 2

Crook Or Craft

By crook or craft or
pale moonlight, I'll have your lips
'fore the pass of night.

And, I'll have your skin,
bloodless and bare, wrapped round my
bones; I'll have your hair.

Your skull, your spine, your
tend'rest parts.  But, fear not, love,
you can keep your heart.

For Sensational Haiku Wednesday