Three To Five Lines Of Love

I’m just a little ahead of the curve on the upcoming odes to Eros, Cupid, and Saint Val, but one might say my small poetic offerings aren’t much of an ode to hearts, arrows, & small flying angels anyway. What can I say, it was a mood – I ran with it…

Morbidity Loves

Swore indifference
then he covered his body
in my poetry

RL

Haiku
Street art photo, Toronto, ON by Randall Willis

Locks Of  Love

Coddled
your dark ego
before she ran away
said what she needed for a clean
escape

RL

Cinquain
Street art photo, Toronto, ON by Randall Willis

Imperilled Rescues

Broken promises to hate me
Spent his national holiday
Looking for me, sipping on dreams
to coax me home, to coax me home

RL

Tetra
Street art photo, Toronto, ON by Randall Willis

The Phoenix Seeks

One was too saintly, the other mystifyingly, overly wanton
but, the muse that had once stood in front of him,
caused him the great distress of having to choose between them.
He couldn’t have loathed her more for that.
She was the appointed trajectory change, The Annointed,
ready to absorb all pain,
swallowing every shot of poison he threw on her.
His game changer.
She’d fulfilled her divine role, took it all, and then she cried & cursed, screamed & writhed until her strength of purpose coiled it all up and she hurled it to the Universe-
trusting its claim to render the collection into harmless stardust.
And then she burned him….
She left him
She left…
The deepest of profane-worthy infractions: the disease of desertion, the unholy crime of abandonment. That’s why he set his world on fire…
She left.
Him.
If he’d really wanted the Saint, he’d have got ordained and lived on his knees. He’d have played at prayerful loving until he could run for privacy to vomit out the inevitable gut-full of banal-blended depression.
If he’d really wanted Devil Baby, he’d have dug into the part of ratbag with a heart of gold for much longer than 190 days of tortuous – love to love & hate you, Baby Girl.
He hungers for the one who wasn’t a saint, but had an army of them for back-up…. that one just near enough to demons to be inspired without getting sucked into their seediness.
He’d forgot the bargain to hold muses indefinitely; ignored it entirely.
Unsuitable for the narrative of his design, and yet…
He poured gasoline all over his world to regain that searing desire and relief that only she’d ever drawn from him.
He imagined himself a Phoenix, but he’ll never leave the flames. He will never know the cooling of the ashes as they heal and repair. He will never rise anew.
He burns… forever,
but not nearly so much as for
more of her.

RL

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/saintly/

Minute Misery; Haiku

Forlorn longing sighs
Spring’s promises to Summer
Pivot toward dark

Weak, last ditch appeals to Sun
Spring promised; prolong our youth

RL

Haiku/Tanka

Inspiration & Photo credit: Autumn Alps by Le Drake Noir

 

Another One Bites The Dust

Mad Hatter

Poor girl didn’t heed
Cries of the already drowned
Smothered; false kisses

Warnings lost in hard pursuits
T’was never hard to know you

………………………………

Mad-hatters shape shift
He becomes every dream
Magical threading

Weaving so under your skin
Never releasing his prey

………………………………

Permanently etched
Tied more closely than chained links
Oh, the tricks, those ploys

The spell forever changing
The whirls of madness now reign

RL

Haiku / Tanka
Street Art by @shalakattack
Photo provided by createdbyrcw.com

The Queen of Hearts said to the wee thing:

“How hard it can be for lost hearts to get it. The moment is passed and yet, some refuse to buzz-off even after their true colors have been brought to light and rejected. Such strange senses of ownership, but then new/old conquests refuse to believe hypnotic methods could fool them, no matter how much is offered in foresight. The trance in full effect – ‘he knows me like no other’…. They all do, dear. That’s their job. They stare and stare and stare at you until you give it all”.

“I wonder if we’re so different after all…perhaps that’s why they simply cannot say goodbye after, like a varicella-zoster, content to hide in the shadows forevermore”…

WANING TREASURES: Colour

The diminishing days of summer begin to tug at my only-just-now-relaxing heartstrings. I’m not ready to give up the heat, the light, the energy of the extra sunlight; not where we live anyway.

We live in a rain-forest and not the kind that, in winter, envelopes the area in near bathwater-warm mists.  Oh no, ours is that infamous, sopping, bitterly chill ya to cellular level till you cry kind of dampness. That cheery fun matched only by the varying depths of blanketing grey masses that blot out said light of grace.

So, is it any wonder I choose to claw back the impending doom and seek out the remnants of brilliance and shine? To hang onto the trailing sweet scents of fresh leaves and grasses and florals? To seek even more comfort in the flowing lightness of shimmery breezes (and really cute apparel)?

All of which serves to ease even the biggest workload into a sense of partial vacation. Maybe it’s closer to the idea of just vacant, but still… if it works for escapism purposes…

Soon enough, the world’s turn will darken patio libations and I will have no choice but to submit to the inevitable. Grey. Slate, Dove, Ash, Charcoal. Grey. Well, at least that is, until we get to the mixed and even, garish jewel tones of Christmas. Oh my… Can’t wait!

In the meantime, some of my micro-tributes to summer colour:

DAISY CLAIMS
Daisies

Momma’s favourites
White blooms speaking innocence
Thus mine are yellow 😄

Haiku
BC coast, July 2017

 

HIDDEN TREASURES

Secrets of the heart
A mere two souls know my fave
Primary option

Haiku
Photo, Peggys Cove, NS

 

JAUNE SEDUCTIONS

Sunny, bright, happy
Deep, warm, inviting caress
Golden embraces

A bed of warm intellect
The real couleur de l’amour

Haiku / Tanka
Photo, Northwest Cove, NS

RL

Street Art Takes Pain

I came across a pretty great poetic thought on Twitter, and be damned if I could find it again to properly quote and credit it, but it said something along the line of, “poetry is where the pain goes”.  I’d wager there’s a pretty big crowd of us that wade in that poetic pool.

I’m not saying I had a painful week, but once again inspiration hit while I was perusing a friend’s street art photos.  Some old heart matters reared up, and I couldn’t resist the pull of the bard. So a short ode to a long week. Wishing all a really fabulous final August weekend.

WITH BAITED BREATH

Help, help she called out
Alas, only silence heard
No hook on the line

Haiku
Street Art photo provided by @createdbyw

 

DOG COLLARS

When the deeds been done
The new victim acquiesced
Signed on for the ride

Oh, the glee, oh if only
Oh, to be flies on the wall

Haiku / Tanka
Street Art photo provided by @createdbyw

 

HARE OF THE DOG

Oh, soul Girl, step slow
Do beware red hearts, Alice
Their souls are so black

Tread most carefully, angel
Every promise, a trick

Haiku / Tanka
Street Art Photo: Unknown, Porto, Portugal

RL