imposter

weekend wordsmith: no 94 contract; read write poem: day 5 naprowrimo
photo: compaddict04, flickr

 

releasing the day’s thick coating of city life took more effort than her life reserves reflected. unlocking the front door, she laid down her purse and keys on a small table and searched for the cure. walking to her bedroom she changed into an old tattered shirt and sweats shucking her sheath for another day. heading to the living room she approached shelves of vinyl records and picked a favorite. silently scolding herself, why not something else?

ignoring the shadow of stolen star gazing she swayed to the sounds of aretha franklin and once again began discharging in a curtain of glittering scales. in the lightness of letting go the needle played round and round bringing relief from the reality of her current condition. playing the role of the pretender was no longer a pledge she wanted to perform.

come home

weekend wordsmith: sleepless
photo:sleepless, highwaygirl67

dry distant humor
intelligence imagines
psychedelic dreams

pretty perfect words
mezmerizing cool cold touch
wishful dissemble

alluring lost life
he often comes home alone
daylight brings reprieve

smiling sweetly
she slowly simmers near him
wooing gentle touch

tearfully timid
incarcerate carnality
fearful doubt aligns

au courant

weekend wordsmith no 84: sensible
photo: “Eleanor’s Sensible Shoes”, by appaloosa

alive her skin breathes
cognizant her consciousness
restrains the howl

efficient miles
reverberating comfort
disturbance aware

prepossessing light
formality desire
unreachable touch

her husband covets
not eleanor’s affection
nor her rosey cheeks

distant young demure
her smile reaches just shy
his once open arms

emancipation

writer’s island no 15: if i could change one thing and weekend wordsmith no. 83 road
photo:  cindy47452, flickr.com

i wouldn’t have gone down that road. i wouldn’t have pointed the gun to his head and squeezed the trigger of his soft steel .44 magnum. i wouldn’t have felt the sting of his death spatter soil my tender aged skin. i wouldn’t have turned and walked away with little regret, bathing in the freedom of lock and load. i wouldn’t possess a buried secret rattling the chains of right and wrong in the dreams of my liberation. i wouldn’t hide in the open plains of blue sky and wheat fields sometimes counting clouds with the sweet bitter taste of heaven and hell. i wouldn’t drink the amber whiskey igniting the fire in the belly of my broken bloom.

instead i wouldn’t have gone down that road, i would have drifted my direction and walked a different life.

4 beat measure

once in the light
glimmer captured
foreign and alive

wolf in waiting
whale turning
splash of running wind

fast and wild
could not capture
the taste of wet water

fluid forms
shadows shining
beneath the swelling seas

broken shell
biting wind
guarded paws wander

howling heard
far afield
i recognize the sound
** *** *** **
weekend wordsmith: ripple
photo:  inua, flickr