It crawls upon cold paws
To clutch with talons and claws
Nearing its prey, it hunts
With opening eyes and jaws
To shove with power and thrust
Upon insatiable desire and lust
It thrashes again and throws
Ardor so unjust
It bursts in colors of mist
In crimson hue and amethyst
Its forces like fireworks rise
Within emotion, organs, and amidst
In body it lies, in surreal disguise
Leaving no chance for mind to coexist
Beckon these eyes a whisper in trees
Scarlet passion in hot molten heat
With your fiery touch I will hit my knees
Fevered oscillation on warm amber sheets
This skin awaits your raw carmine kiss
Breath…indrawn from smoldering flames
Inside deep eyes of sweet chocolate Swiss
In searing red throes I call out your name
Trembling in the blazing torch of your touch
I whimper blue....a shattered disarray
A blistered journey…you are my crutch
A bursting heart pulsing crimson display
Morning awaits a crushed coral flower
Entombed......inside an ebony tower
Dancing around a cauldron fire
to the sounds of a golden lyre
and a bubbling brew
of bat and shrew
caught in the cobbled rain
they release their heat and pain
into the darkening world
while your senses become unfurled
to herbs and secret balms
and your beating heart calms
into a sensuous trance
as you join in the dance
of turning, swirling,
death defying twirling
seduced by flickering flames
you lose time and names
of bad or good
must and should
spiraling into a peace
to find your heart's release
through this dervish portal
ever after an immortal
in the dance.
I may slap you, curse you, smack you
Don’t get too serious honey, its monthly fun
I am PMS ing and my trauma is true
Be my gentleman and Pass My Shotgun
I may hate your friends and knock them down
Be any handsome man or cute chick
Don’t get them here when I am around
I am PMS ing, People Make me Sick
I may laugh out loud at your silly jokes
And the very next moment won’t find them funny
That catastrophic emotional trauma pokes
I am PMS ing, its Psychotic Mood Shift honey
Every month, within me I sense this ruinous storm
It’s not me honey, this phantom is Premenstrual Syndrome
(An invented ghost tale)
A tale was told how centuries ago
at one old wooden bridge, there had occurred
a tragedy, for led there by some foe,
three children, by his scythe, were massacred.
It plagued my mind what drove him to this act;
how evil could prevail and not atone!
So one dank night the path to death I tracked,
and on the bridge I found myself alone.
Then suddenly I shrank. There loomed ahead
a disembodied soul with horror’s face.
Then circling endlessly the bridge, he fled,
as smaller ghosts with bandied blades gave chase.
Three gravestones lie nearby - no less. . . no more.
And yet the spirits I had seen were four!
For the Ghost Story Poetry Contest of Kelly Deschler
Euphoria this morning, it hits me
now and then. A feeling of joy and peace.
A feeling of well being, sense of we
rather than I, quickening, a release,
knowledge that there is another world
so close that I can touch it if I choose,
a sense of all the others that I hold
at bay on ordinary days, let loose
in the room, the house, in the universe,
and I know I am invited to join
them where they are, here and in the reverse,
seen and unobserved, a flip of a coin
away. I hold the door open slightly,
at times for hours, then, close it gently.
I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.
Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit.
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.
Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
Uplifting morn by the lake
As I sit here beside Lake Joondalup
With silent morn as yet not woken up
Green parrots sing from gnarled old wetland trees
As leaves they dance and whirl on the morning breeze.
A tiger snake he comes, a swimming by
As gulls they screech and fly into the sky
Two kangaroos, so big, and strong, and grey
They seem so happy on this perfect day
The air is filled with so much mystery
I sit and watch filled with serenity
As the sun peeps through the clouds there in the sky
From its orange hue, I hear a raven cry.
As Morning silence Fill’s my very soul
The dawn, arrives and make’s me feel so whole.
30 June 2014 @ 1432hrs.
For Elly's Sonnet contest.
Born cold with a dark emptiness within
Seeking to understand the reasons why
Another life? A payment for its sin
Leaves a quiet quiver when the soul cries
Wanting eyes flow with a warm stream of tears
Struggling through distant worlds out of time
Lost among the confusion from the years
The lonely chime of my eternal rhyme
Perception fills the universe with lies
Tugging the long thread woven in its cloth
To mend life's fragile coat with blinded eyes
Feel it burn in death's flame another moth
I've tasted the waters of life's fountain
And quenched my old thirst again and again
Across a flowered field, I gaze.
A daisy weeps through morning haze.
One lone petal departs her side -
a "love-me-not" is softly sighed.
Gazing away from love denied -
one more leaflet from thee is pried.
Another dream towards fate's romance;
a petal plucked lends second chance.
The daisy's hearth has met defeat.
Her children sob beneath her feet.
Deflowered by a lover's act -
one last petal remains in tact.
"Love-me-not or love me so true?"
I leave that answer up to you.