Short Spites Poems

There is no you now
For your words tell me so
There's no broken vow
Just your longing to go
From the beginning 
It was so again
Love without ending
Love so full of pain
And I, is there rights
To my feelings now
Can I skip your spites
And say another vow?
In the void of spring
Summer comes burning
Love and everything
Except wasp and wing....

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When we get to our appointed heaven
hearts and minds still cooling
slights and insults recovering
from many a minor bullet hole
from small caliber affronts
loathing’s and spites
and other petty punctures
wounds covered over so long
with rank plasters
plugs and scabs
that even now leave
a tell-tale lingering smell
an inevitable odor
of a once self-inflicted hell...

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shade bleeds a velvet texture
stretching far and wide 
strides to smother 
clawed hands grasping thread 
rip apart layers to shed 
bear the stains of men 
rise and swagger free 
struggle to breathe  
steps in spites deceit
skipping stones of jaded need
trail of tears in layered debris
vacant rows of burdened clay 
broken back bent to gather neat 
harvesting the last belief



Terry D’Arcy-Ryan...

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There is this lady
whom I'll call Ms Maybe
cause she  excites
and spites
each man in her life
as she's not ready to become a wife.

Ms Maybe 
is a real Daisy
that turns shady
in the blink of an eye. 
She's a one-of-a-kind flower
that transforms by the hour.

Goodbye lady who turns each admirer 
and aspirer
into a perspirer.
Farewell Ms Maybe
whose heart has turned cold lately.
Hello Ms Steady
who is ready
to welcome her future baby daddy.
...

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