Have to keep the door closed
(after that midnight treat)
The coyote or wolf far off
(too close)
Can’t remember the plot
(salsa has tightened its grip)
upon awakening
(not at all sure of that)
the widening of the dark
I open the door slowly
to the shadows
(a strange light and likeness)
The wild animal is scarier
enclosed, inhibited
(it tears at my throat, claws
my innards - from a distance)
The pillow next to me
has no face or hair
(hope he’s living
downstairs!)
I need his warmth, his touch
(I’m shivering cold)
ALL THE LIGHTS GO ON
the bathroom
the sink
the bedroom
the hallway
the living room
the stairs
He’s there, in his chair
I tell him I need him
He says he will be along
shortly, so
I remain, reading
in my recliner
shortly waiting
then the warming begins
side to side
his hand over mine
a warmer blanket
after midnight the wolf
will wait to attack
and with waiting
he satisfies his appetite
I’m still cold at midday
but my fears sleep
After Midnight
… starts the life
After one o’clock, the last train had gone
My window is open, listening the silent the silence
The distant, soft noise of the city…, so friendly
I love it, this is the best time for writing. Inspiring night
I love this life. Oh, the night. I am driven by the Dark
I drink
Oh night!
Cheers!
Shards of lambent moonlight drift across crumpled charcoal sky,
gleaming snow clad laneways flaunt ancient ghostly footprint,
dream world boisterous cabals lurk in blue ink shadows,
glow worm street lights peer o’er nocturnal hour hush,
swirling toll of dulcet midnight bells defrost black ice veil,
mud stained slush from madcap drivers spray giggling sweethearts
The house is quiet after midnight.
My mind is not.
The ghoul lathered a cadaver ~
with a dagger, the cops gathered
the day is done
time to dim the lights
and focus on my heart
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Posted on September 6, 2022
When death sent out its calling card
the heavens came in view
Psalms to reach the Angel’s ears
one voice had broken through
Grace within her every word
each feeling soul infused
Patsy singing from above
—to bless the chosen few
(Remembering Patsy Cline: May, 2022)
People have the wrong impression of your life;
Seems you never liked your father’s second wife.
You let the prayers of childhood go unsaid;
Spent a humid adolescence in an unmade bed.
Your sisters always tended to their chores,
Then they’d have to find the time to finish yours.
While you would pick narcissus by the pond,
Thinking how you’d look much better as a platinum blonde.
All your fantasies of cartoon musketeers
Drape like curtains in the space between your ears,
As though to catch the echo of a thought
Before it can distract you from the shoes you’ve bought.
One should only wear glass slippers to a ball
If the dancing floor has carpet wall to wall.
Don’t tango down and down those darkened stairs,
Or take the clock for granted as if midnight cares.
Now the dirt that’s on the paving stone today
Ain’t the kind you take your broom and sweep away.
The Prince is busy looking for his Queen,
While you work hard to get your reputation clean.
In the early morning hours at the break of the new day
Is ‘The witching hour”, it’s a magical time, they say
A time where the veil between worlds becomes thin,
Allowing you the ability to go deeper within
Making it easier to connect with those on the other side
A time where the shadows come out from where they hide
A time when a witch performs her ceremonial rite
When the sky is dark and the full moon is shining bright
A time when strange magic can and will occur
Its a time that witches and warlocks prefer
To conjure and manifest the needed things
Creating a reality which came from their dreams
So within the wee hours, next time when you are lying awake
Remember that strange magic is what you could make.
Moon After Midnight
ocean flows carefree
crescent moon forgotten fast
dreaming of ventures
August 11,2020
2 pm PSt
my mournings come alive
when she enters deep inside
my heart, my passion, my mind
time
it travels far
without daylight
burning moments
as they move on by
I see her soot
as it cinders
my reprehensible lust
bleeding
upon a thousand broken glass slippers
I slide her future
past the tombs of tommorow
caressing the carriage/carnage
of life
if only
midnight would hold
a glance
through the glass
graceful the gorgeous ballerina
twirls
and smiles when I look
beyond the broken
the soot
the chances never took
A day like any other day rings out midnight again
On the muffled peals hammered out loud by bells
Not heard over the thunderous storms performance
Simultaneously taking place outside the madness
The Saint Frankenstein non-denominational church is cursed
As the bells toll their cruel rings heard over the silent screams
Every time a priest jumps from the high tower by coincidence
Which is frequently and no one ever seems to leave a note
Perhaps they were in a hurry or too busy on their mission
There is a mystery about the tower never told
Involving the bells and the mathematics of it all
Regarding one person vs. two and their remainders
How can you have a nun or priest jump from up there
But when you look again there is still a figure in the window?
It’s after midnight, as my muse carries a lot on my mind
Putting words onto paper in my reach that I can find
So many things that have dressed me for so long
Always reviewing the balance of rights and wrong
I was just a young girl, when I could view things this way
Too early for my age, but reasons carried me each day
I have wishes and dreams, living on like anyone
Love that flourishes, for we are all equal like one
Work and goals always continuing to play a part
In a life with ambition that was growing from the start
But simplicity is important like a star in the sky at night
A creation to be grateful for with every welcoming sight
Now, a discovery shuts my eyes this hour to sleep
To enter recurring dreams of you, I will always keep
Heidi Sands
11/1/19
a new day has dawned
leaving shadows behind them —
pink daughter brings mirth
9/3/2019
(saw a mistake with a rhyme and just now revised this)
I’m on a Greyhound bus – six hours till dawn
It’s late and dark. I think that I must be
the only passenger whose light is on.
I’ll keep that tiny light trained down on me
because I want to write some poetry!
Are people sleeping on this late night ride?
Perhaps, but I will still keep on my light.
There’s little talking; maybe some folks bide
their time while looking out onto the night.
Not I! I take delight in time to write.
Aug 5, 2019 for Janice Canerdy's English Quintain Poetry Contest
written 8/2/19 after midnight in Iambic Pentameter
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