I dreamt about an old Victorian house that was abandoned
It was dilapidated and left vacant for years and was starting to decay
It was hidden down a long dirt driveway aligned with overgrown lilac trees
The grounds were overgrown grass that resembled a field of wildflowers
I decided to look inside, the front door was unlocked, and I let myself in
I entered a beautiful parlor with floor to ceiling bookcases and wingback chairs
Sticking out was a rare Charles Dicken's book, I took it and sat in a chair to read
I fell asleep until I awakened in my bed as I noticed the rare book in my hand
Where did the book come from, was I really in that old Victorian house?
Categories:
wingback, dream, fantasy, mystery,
Form: Free verse
“Don’t fall for a man
with shiny shoes,”
she told us,
gin and tonic in hand,
decades left-over smokey southern voice.
Five o’clock sharp
she sat in the wingback
looking over us at iced-over windows,
as far from the South
as fading blue-grey eyes,
and memories swirling in a glass
could hold close.
She had married-
and lost-
a good New England man
who winters had spread salt on the icy path
and kept the children
-her daughter sitting there now-
warm in jackets, heavy socks and scarves.
Dinner, then
plates and glasses always put away
same order, same places,
forty years.
We sat,
patiently, unwarned,
waiting to be dismissed,
and steal away into winter’s heat,
unaware of whose reflections
or future
we were in.
Categories:
wingback, love,
Form: Free verse
Pierre was a billionaire living in BelAir
A most successful concessionaire
Handsomely suave and debonair
Loved reading excerpts from Voltaire
Played for hours games of solitaire
His favourite lair was in a cozy wingback chair
Savouring his Earl Grey with chocolate éclair
Loved to travel just about anywhere
His wife accused him of having an affair
With a stewardess high in the air
Turned out it was she dating a commissionaire
Though every night she said a little prayer
She got caught with her derrière in midair
Quite unaware of her disheveled hair
And how deep she fell in her own snare
Totally no panache or an ounce of flair
She thought life to her had been unfair
Since Pierre’s money she’d not get a share
It would all be left to an heir
One whose loyalty did not compare
Pierre’s cuddly pet, his rare mohair bear
On this fine day I do declare
Liars and cheaters do beware
Play your games if you dare
But if I have my way I swear
You’ll inherit only your fair share of despair
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Categories:
wingback, betrayal, lust, marriage, success,
Form: Monorhyme