Never again to know fresh air,
Combing worms from my matted hair.
No one remains who’d ever care —
Tied to my grave, this lonesome baire.
I must escape the sun’s harsh glare,
Tread carefully down crumbling stair,
Descend into my crypt just there,
Where I sit alone in dark despair.
Upon my ancient worm-eaten chair,
Inside my vaulted charnel house lair,
Such a sad and accursed affair —
Never to rest, always aware.
This kind of death is so unfair:
No converse, no song, no whispered prayer.
A thousand lifetimes in disrepair,
Unattended, solus, solitaire.
Harshest sentence beyond compare,
Caught in this endless undeath snare.
Naught to do but eternity stare —
And comb the damn worms from my hair.
dog and I sit in the lair
we ate chili, foul odor in the air
both of us gamey, but we don’t care
this cave is foul, just ask the bear
Fearless Excavation!
Dirt flies into the air.
Turtle Devastation,
As he digs a muddy lair.
Mindful Contemplation.
Winter weather is quite near.
Springtime Fascination
Is when turtle reappears.
A subtle breeze hints gently to remember
It’s nothing personal it’s just September
Basking in the fresh of cooling air
She takes the stage on cue it is her way
Reminding you to cherish every day
For soon their edge may be so much less fair
Yet, do we praise the beauty of her realm
Succumb to cooling winds, concede the helm
Set sail upon the beauty of her prayer
For there is promise in her shifting tide
A hope now taking root that will abide
Yet sail into the dark of Winter’s lair
beware of the lair of the shark queen
she watches you
keen
to have revenge on your kind
once she's made up her mind there's no turning back
so watch your back
beware of the lair of the shark queen
her teeth are as sharp as her mind
beware of the lair of the shark queen
Alas I wander with wounds of love
Thy heart has melted my wick burnt out
No fire to kept my body warn, I am lost
Take heed these lips have grown cold
The milling of my soul will never be filled
Now dripped from my Spirit with emptiness
Gone you have become from sight
Tears of fear I hold within this mind
There is no spark left to rekindling this heart
Those days now gone as the wind blows
Never to breath any refreshing air
It has now become a smoked filled room
That has taken my breath away
Your voice now silent without words
I have been placed in a chamber of silence
Our memories now rotting away
Lost among your lies
A majestic beast
lives inside a cave.
Sleeping there by day,
soaring high each night.
Red eyes burning bright.
A fire breather,
hunting for prey
with a loud roar
in tales and lore.
I saw him
as he slept
when I crept
in the
dragon's
lair.
June 14, 2022
Diminished Hexaverse Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
Mishellania’s lair was not like anyone else’s that I know.
It was a mystical place full of magic, in the sea, deep and far below.
There were treasures that she had found from many wrecked ships.
I saw some of the items, but with other things, I only saw blips.
Mischellania’s lair was so far away from the shore, few ever saw it.
I felt lucky that she had saved me because I was small, just a chit.
I was sworn to secrecy, that I would never tell anyone of her stash.
It had pearls, emeralds, gold, silver, antiques, and all kinds of cash.
What genius can thus inspire,
the mind will never know
It takes more than a thought conceived,
to go where visions go
Angkor Wat or Taj Mahal,
we only stand in awe
And wish to go from whence they came
—the artists Shangri La
(Dreamsleep: December, 2020)
I watch as roaring winds accost
withered leaves that would soon be lost.
Branches, once laden green, beware ~
November will strip your limbs bare.
Your clothes swept to the muck and mire,
raked onto their funeral pyre.
Wet from drizzling rain, they are tossed,
weeping, as if they had been glossed.
A windswept death does not seem fair.
It fills me with grief and despair.
I would raise them up high...higher,
each leaf escaping flames of fire.
No headstone with name 'Leaf' embossed,
etched with November's snow and frost.
Fallen leaves have no Winter lair,
no warm warren as does the hare.
If Nature could somehow transpire
to save them, 'twould be my desire.
November 29, 2020
William Kekaula's Lay November Contest
checked with HMS
You pluck an Angel from the heavens
And lure her to your lair
Assuring her of passion
Assuring her safety there
You light the world on fire around her
Watching her as she dances
In the flames of your promises
Embers of forever and 2nd chances
You never let a flame touch her
Always protecting her with care
Is this fire going to burn her?
Only sands of time will tell
You never meant to destroy her
You never meant her harm
But what else happens to an angel in hell
When you take one on your arm
You tire of fanning the flame
So you turn and walk away
The angel that you knew and loved
Now doesn't know her place
She stays behind in the ashes
Realizing how badly her wings were burned
And now she wanders in hell
Only awaiting your return
She made friends with her demons
They taught her how to survive
But it still isn't home without you
Not somewhere she can thrive
Tired of waiting and crying
She sees she is on her own
She knows it's time get going
Its a long walk to get back home.
By: Cherisa Felder 2020
I fly out of my lair
to land in your hair
You brush me off
as if I weren't there
Yet now you're infected
though you've not suspected
corona flu injected
no symptoms detected
You've invaded my home
stripped the land of my food
I'd have left you alone
'cept for your turpitude
Of rural China we speak
and the West, it does shriek
regarding sinister plots
but that's all for naught
For as you too encroach
on habitats you poach
from skunks, 'coons, and mice
Please know that head lice --
will seem mighty nice
compared to the plagues
that are heading your way
in a trice
despair is the devil's dungeon broiling in darkness
Sneaking into the enemy camp,
the guards all fast asleep
Crawling past the sorrow and pain,
old promises to keep
Deep within the saboteurs grasp,
for one last time, alone
Burrowing into uncertainties lair
—to despoil the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2017)
Hill – lair - y
Gone but not forgotten…
the rancid stench of hope
…..gone rotten.
©4/8/2019
A Realistic Hillary Clinton Poem Poetry Contest
Michael Wegman - sponsor
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