Short Pluck At Poems

June showed her pluck at an early age
As prophesized by a pleasant sage
Six nuns tried to put her into a cage
This quickly made Omaha’s front page
Causing lots of readers parental rage
She is loose today, in Alzheimer’s stage...

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I hang from the strings I tied to you
that I’m too afraid to cut;
too afraid to tug on
when you can’t feel my weight.
I'll cut myself some slack,
only for you to pluck at them once more.
The strings are thinning out;
I'm thinning out. 
Please do not let the strings break,
for I break with them....

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PETAL GIRL

I dial your number
in the depth of sleep
hands on my clock 
move
hands on your body 
move
flowers in your
mouth
flowers in your 
thighs

always in the garden
of you
is the flower
of your mind

others bend
but you..
you pluck at
my petals
consign them to
your whims..

she loves me
she loves me not
she loves me
she loves me
not

© Kim van Breda—August 2015...

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His hands are mesmerizing;
They move with easy grace.
With wide palms and long fingers,
He stirs this breathless place.
 
His melody is haunting;
It strikes my deepest chord.
His hands pluck at my heartstrings,
Touch regions unexplored.

I can't help but imagine
Just how those hands would feel
Playing tunes against my skin -
A world of notes unsealed.

He concentrates so deeply, 
Immersed in making art.  
And here I sit - Pathetic!
Jealous of a damned guitar!...

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