In this moment,
I see visions of bed sheet caught in slow motion,
I see crinkles in corners of eyes and smiles that turn into giggles,
I see screaming fingers tips up and down my skin,
I see something new to brush my fingers through,
I see him grazing his facial hair on my upper thighs,
I see my new poems and problems coming about,
I see myself saying “I need you” again.
oh no it’s happening again,
Oh Oh it’s happening again,
Oh it’s happened again.
tuckered and tucked in with him
ebb and flow of pillow head
personalities have dreams
we walk on the sea
we see no sun, with eyes shut
lily pads and no frog legs
and the sky’s a blinding blue
our feet toss and turn
pebbles rise into the clouds
a curious sight, indeed
even in the darkest night
distressing whale song
whistle salts breeze into face
we walk our separate ways
sleepy fits of temperament
hopeful peppermint
a couple buoys apart
harbor of port and starboard
ahoy, matey…don’t walk plank
drop splash to the deck
wakey…wakey…the seas wake
the blasting siren alarm
no one cares less where wave crests
it rests on the bed
that is the crumpled bed sheet
only need to straighten it
a boat left in the harbor
the sea’s now placid
______________
The heroine dresses herself with pleasure,
makes bed, and awaits her beloved
_________________
Wearing bashfulness, concealed joy,
Nigh impatient, blushing, no less coy,
Lips quivering in excitement
To embrace ultimate moment,
Feet ready to break into dance,
Bed to door and back O to prance,
Her bosom pulsating to be one
With beau in climaxing union,
Spread hast she a bed sheet of silk,
And prepared some saffron-mixed milk,
The bouquet of her keen body
For long more than ready
To be cherished by her Love
Longs to get too moist to move,
Ready, rain of seed to receive
O on this long-awaited eve.
_______________________
Natya Shastra| 03.02.2025 | Free verse, emotions, romance, awaiting
Note: This is third of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Vasaka-sajja is the third of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
One night in sleep I found my antiquated bed,
tired of lasting confinement, decided to fly out.
On wings of bed-sheet turning to a soaring swan,
it started to flutter away before I could thwart.
I clutched in fear the flapping wings lest I fall,
through my bemused eyes I looked up skyward,
saw from the sapphire sky the sparkling stars
beckon me and I heard their sequined summon.
The bed flew to an alien land beyond the horizon,
where the scarlet sun was stuck in the silken sky.
The flying bed got draped in spectral royal robe,
landed in a flamboyant valley of flushing flowers.
Encircled by fairies I was in a trance on the floral bed,
all the unseen dreams I left dormant so long returned.
These were not in black and white, but in halcyon hues,
carved in kaleidoscopic contours, my heart patterned.
Mr Spud Head is wearing a frown
Some eejit stole his wife’s best gown
His wife who’s called Myrtle
Looks like a gross turtle
Spud’s concerned that the chips are down
They’re going out, Myrtle gets dressed
But Spud Head sees she looks depressed
Her old gown doesn’t fit
And mis-shapes her left tit
She’s crying and looking distressed
Poor Spud Head must think on his feet
He whips off their king size bed sheet
Wife’s bod won’t be seen
Cos it’s Halloween
He’s keeping watch on what she’ll eat
There’s excellent news about Myrtle
She no longer looks like a turtle
Myrtle went on a diet
Spud insisted she try it
To ‘platewatchers’ she will now hurtle!
These Scars, they tell a story.
A story that doesn’t end.
End, the pain that has been behind me, following.
Follow? Followed like a social media story.
Story, is what i wish to tell but I can’t get it out..
They’d start to yell, they start to scream.
I want them to go away, as my life is being ripped like my skin…
At the seams.
The seams of my bed sheet it getting loose because i pull at the string..
Loose like the string that tugs at my heart.
I pull and pluck at the string. I pull that same string and pluck… and pluck and pluck and pluck and pluck
and pluck and pluck and pluck and pluck and pluck and pluck and…
Plucked at like my heart
My heart that is Fragile, Fragile like a newborn baby.
A baby that’s what I am called because I cry.
Cry is something I do.. Why?
Why do I cry...?
Through my unending vision,
I look in her eyes to find
pinks and reds blossom to life
on the bed-sheet of roses that
she, herself had woven by
tiny threads of the vivid art
her soul couldn’t express,
but all her heart goes to
a rose shrinking in a corner-
A flower deprived of water and sun
had been longing for too long to
belong somewhere or to someone…
Someone hurt monster's feelings, so he decided to eat.
He ate a toaster, cord and all, quite a great treat.
Devoured a couple of chickens, one with two crooked feet.
Slathered up a bowl of gravy with carrots and one beat.
Monster was still sad, so he ate a 1956 Chevy car seat.
A Wal-mart greeter who forgot to greet,
a sheep without a voice, a pathetic feat.
A fleecy comforter, and a worn out old bed sheet.
Still felt hurt, so he decided to add a yellow parakeet.
The parakeet squawked, so he let it fly up the street.
Someone gave him a ham hock, so now he had some meat.
He is still upset, so he continues to eat….
One night you dream the bed you’re sleeping on,
gets tired stuck in room, decides to fly out.
On wings of bed-sheet turning soaring swan,
it flutters away before you can shout.
You’re stunned to see the bed becomes a bird,
clutch in fear the flapping wings lest you fall.
Your wide open dazed eyes look up skyward,
sees the stars smiling at you as they crawl.
The bed flies smoothly to an unknown land,
where the winged sprites dance under scarlet sky,
wrap the flying bed with colorful strand.
It lands in flowery valley to lie.
You fall asleep soon on the rose-decked bed,
the unseen dreams you left in room return,
not in black and white, but in shades of red.
Into roses you see your desires turn.
______________
February 25, 2023
Syllable count : 10 per line (HMS)
Contest : Nursery Rhyme
Sponsored by : Eve Roper
Haydn Aidan and Monica Reith
Made a pact to share false teeth
They did the same with pants and shoes
It saved the bother of having to choose
One worked by night and one by day
They shared a bed and to keep it neat
They made the change in a passageway
They shared a bed but to keep things neat
Each one had their own bed sheet
They only decided they would try it
To help each other keep to their diet
After fourteen years when both were thin
They started living apart again
Then Haydn Aidan and Monica Reith
Each went and bought their own false teeth
But for a while they didn’t rush
Each to buy their own tooth brush
Once a week they met in town
And brushed each other’s dentures down
Monica Reith and Haydn Aidan
Virgin man and blushing maiden
Neither of them ever saw
That the other may have wanted more
Those bestest of best best friends
Which is sadly where our story ends
He was known as “Doctor Death,” a serial killer,
“One of the most prolific in recorded history
While practicing medicine in Manchester, England,
He was most disagreeable and rather blustery
Poisoning elderly women with lethal injections
Over 200 victims qualified him a monster chiller.
Seems Harold “Fred” Shipman, wanted control
Over the life and death of his patients, indeed!
Showing no mercy [from early in his career]
The presiding judge said, “he must never be freed!”
Evidence against him was conclusive, of course,
The doctor, it appears, had neither heart nor soul.
In Wakefield Prison, “Fred” committed suicide
By hanging himself with his knotted bed sheet
And rather rapidly passed into horror’s history
His wife and family stood up for him, so sweet—
It seems that his murdering spree started early
In his career…sad that so many innocents died.
SIXTH PLACE WINNER
Written August 3, 2022
Submitted to "Dr. Harold Shipman" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joe Maverick
Spooky rustling in the night
In the corner on my right
Could be this or could be that
Not certain it’s the cat
Awake for so many hours
Diving under bed sheet cowers
Last night woke with a start
Watched light speck about me dart
“Strange goings on, you are sad,
imaginings” said my dad
Sudden awake, hear name call
See-through ghost against the wall
Shaking, “who are you” I said
“I’m from the house of the dead”
2/23/21
One night I found the old bed I used to sleep on,
got tired of lasting confinement, decided to fly out.
On wings of the bed-sheet turning a soaring swan
it started to flutter away before I could even doubt…
could a bed really become a flying bird?
I clutched in fear the flapping wings lest off I fall,
through my bemused eyes I looked up skyward,
saw the stars beckoning me as I heard their call.
The bed flew to an alien land beyond the globe,
where vermilion sun was stuck in silk sky all the hour.
The flying bed got wrapped up in a colorful royal robe,
landed softly on a crimson valley of flushing flower.
Encircled by fairies I fell asleep on the flower-decked bed,
the unseen dreams I left dormant in my room returned.
These were not in black and white, but in blazing red,
took kaleidoscopic shapes I desired, my heart patterned.
Mind needs to invent a flying bed in the realm of fantasy,
form dreams in color painted by heart in trance of ecstasy.
January 1, 2021
Word Count : 180 ( PS Word Counter)
Contest : Fantasy With Fictional Beings
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
On Halloween night, creatures roam the street
Vampires, a ghost wearing a white bed sheet
I hear blood curdling screams
I'm sure they'll haunt my dreams
Freaky things won't keep me in ~"Trick or treat?"
Halloweeen Inspired Limerick Contest
Sponsor~Tania Kitchin ~ 10~9~2020
Syllables checked at howmanysyllables
10~10~6~6~10
She switches the TV off,
Gets up and makes,
Her last visit to her kitchen,
Washes the remaining crockeries ,
Leaves them in their places ,
She sets the cell phone in the charger,
Checks the front door secure,
Puts off the lights,
Reaches her bed,
Spreads her bed sheet neatly,
With the comforter,
In the right position,
She kneels to say her prayers,
And lies down to sleep.
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