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Literature Text
A natty pair of trousers came upon
A gracile set of stockings, quite by chance.
"Milady, say the word and I'll begone,
But firstly I must ask if thou wouldst dance."
"Of course, milord; but only if romance
And not a one-time fling dost thou propose."
"Thou hast my promise," acquiesced the pants,
Even as he sidled toward the hose.
In a manner unbefitting gallant clothes
He sought to lay himself upon her silk;
"Stop, cad!" she cried, "So thou'rt one of those!
My mother said to watch out for thy ilk."
Much wiser heads have voiced it best and first:
Those Worsted wools have always been the worst.
A gracile set of stockings, quite by chance.
"Milady, say the word and I'll begone,
But firstly I must ask if thou wouldst dance."
"Of course, milord; but only if romance
And not a one-time fling dost thou propose."
"Thou hast my promise," acquiesced the pants,
Even as he sidled toward the hose.
In a manner unbefitting gallant clothes
He sought to lay himself upon her silk;
"Stop, cad!" she cried, "So thou'rt one of those!
My mother said to watch out for thy ilk."
Much wiser heads have voiced it best and first:
Those Worsted wools have always been the worst.
Literature
Nirvana
In the jasmine wind
I trace the gossamer shawl;
Beading silver sand along
my toe. The bewitching sonata
Swaddles lotus wrists; swaying,
Enticing, enrapturing
The feral ripple - a soft gyration,
Navel's caress. Painting the moonlight
My arms swell; Wings shimmer -
A desert mirage. Soaring unto nirvana
Literature
Inspiration
I imagined constellations
in the whorls of your thumb;
they spark star-dust,
embers low in my chest.
I write songs in your voice,
a baritone prayer,
sentiment caught
on the corner of your lips,
catching mine.
Out of your dust,
your amber-honey laughter,
I am led by the chin
into worlds, words,
that open my soul
like a clementine.
Every word I breathe
is a net cast wide,
attempts to cage canyons full
of the way I shiver
when you say my name.
Literature
Roadmaps
I have traced my fingers along,
following undulating roads
on faded parchment maps but
there is no X
to mark the spot
where you should be.
I have pushed my way past
half-lit tunnels of willow
leaves, tread over mossy rocks
and overturned each one,
searching for clues, arrows.
I have mapped the stars and
their trails that I might
never be lost - but I am wandering
all the same without
you.
I have studied each roadsign;
followed each one
to its dead end
and U-turned back
to where I started.
I have traced my
footsteps,
over and over,
searching for the place
where I lost my way,
but there is no path back
to you.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
For #fotoFRIDAY's Week Three theme: sonnets.
The photo:
Spenserian rhyme scheme, for variety; the archaic dialogue seemed a good fit. Oh, and watch out for the double entendres: they're flying fast and thick. And long.
Update, as of July 8: Once again, featured by #fotoFRIDAY! [link]
The photo:
Spenserian rhyme scheme, for variety; the archaic dialogue seemed a good fit. Oh, and watch out for the double entendres: they're flying fast and thick. And long.
Update, as of July 8: Once again, featured by #fotoFRIDAY! [link]
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this made me 