Stockholm syndrome.
Entrapped.
Entranced by you.
Pheromones.
Googally eyes.
Butterflies.
Feeling so good should never be so wrong.
Took a deadly double dose of this drug.
Almost took a bite of your apple.
Your horns are growing.
Your hold on me is indestructible.
Your facade is better than the real you.
I remember when you said you'd always be here in the backyard lights.
And then you dug a hole 6 feet down.
You didn't just take the spotlight, you became it.
My love for you was bulletproof but you're the one who shot me.
Love is nothing but a weakness now i see.
Like a moth to the flame.
I dont mind.
It is what it is.
Cemetery weather.
Crows started gawking.
Close my eyes.
Fade into you.
Panic is a longing to live long,
Yet, a betraying of one not being strong;
All the way leading to a taunting song
From persons who panic judge a wrong;
Who when others duly panic
Unduly continue to picnic,
Honestly taking a Sinking Titanic
For a thing to its peril mimic.
But is one to panic or gasp
Or for that matter fearful hands clasp,
When one has seen not a snake
Nor the as rubbery but fake:
When rather it is some irksome wasp,
Whose clear differences we grasp?
No matter how fast I run, or how high I climb,
It always escapes me, that being called “Time”
It is a cunning sparrow, taunting with each rasp
But with each step nearer, flies out of my grasp
Fleeing from my hands, away from my clutch
Just millimeters away but not enough to touch
Running up a steep mountain, I lunge to clasp
But stepping closer to the edge, I let out a gasp
Richly hued feathers painted black and blue,
Each trapping my limbs, my feet stuck like glue
Plant-like appendages wrapping around like vines,
Securing me in place to watch the minute hand’s line
Each tick, each beat, each shake of its slender tail,
Speeds up my heart rate and the pace at which I inhale
Staying in the same place, I beg and plead for more
More of that being which continues to soar and ignore
To this day the sparrow continues to hide and mock,
To glide around others and let out a triumphant squawk
For no one can stop time, whether I am young or old
Only during my final breaths, the sparrow I can hold
Written: July 7, 2021
Contest: “Grasp”
Sponsor: Constance La France
I paused, the moonlight to inhale
As I put my steep climb on hold
Thick grape vines held tight in my grasp.
On I climbed to clutch a buttress
My breath reduced unto a gasp.
On I clambered higher to clasp
The dark hued castle tower cap
I donned my rig to glide away
And soar over broad moonlit vale.
7/5/2021
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Constance La France
Grass clutch to the music of dew when spring is near.
When you glide, the breeze brings an impactful smell.
The spring can hold the most sway; it will indeed appear.
Although sunbeams are splendid, the clouds are scant.
Sea waves play tunes, and hued spring blossoms inhale.
God gives us the spring climate as a merciful necklet.
I look up, curious around how the cloud is adept to fly.
Many tangled timberlands and a slew of vines.
Sufficient vigor gasp you to take off with the hawky.
Purple tulips clasp dance to the voice of gold bloom.
Grasp the mysterious downpour vibration on the trees.
The desire for hotter days after a long spell of gloom.
This is a delight that no gem or cash can yield.
When warmth is here, the world is enticing to nibble.
The thawing spring can soar a genuine flavor to the head.
Written June 25, 2021
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
caught in an octopus’ arms
rip tide of tentacles
underwater currents
the black ink indelible
syphoned protection
can’t see the circling sharks
in my cocoon of false shadows
a surreal embrace
suction caps in action
in surprise
that it is me who
holds on for dear life
a fairy tale because a dolphin
comes to my rescue
until I glow in the dark
disentangle my fear
make friends with an imagined foe
condense spray into light
dissolve and reflect on
what could have been if I
had not been at rock bottom
not caved in to the pressure
sometimes life sheds its meaning
in dubious squirts
allegories and metaphors
until you dive in murky gloom
and take a tight squeeze
decompress on ascent
accept inklings of surrender
16th April 2021
what crazy kind of love is this
that makes me want know one else
the nights with you are endearing and special
and I am never by myself.
the rapture of heaven must have
opened heavens door
the precious love of this
angelic person
a world cannot ignore
from a world of uncaring you've restored my faith
made the oceans calmer
and the world a better place
most of these thoughts seem unseemingly true
theirs no harm in sharing
because I love you
more than suitable
excellent
appealing enough to say
it's marvelous
beyond approach
spectacular
grandeur than grand
finest in a levels
how might someone do better
I slither through the deep forest
across a mystical scene collecting remains
from last evening’s venture : a shiny ligure,
china teapot, faded locket, and scraps
of letters on a trail of past impressions.
By now, periscope of dawn’s glitter
enlarges its serene movements
as light’s thick veil blinds my vision
on a quadrivial of glossed field ,encircling
my reality fragile and calm amidst balmy scent
of air entering my veins in gradual awareness.
In that clasp of silence purely unbelievable
reservoir of breath refills tired bosoms;
and the forest stands still in its auburn robe
waiting for clouds to form pathways
before the sun returns me back home.
Any Subject Contest of Shadow Hamilton
by nette onclaud
11 jul 2013
Superfluous words
are not needed from my love
his embrace is all
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