At Times That Look’s for Me
At times that look's
For me,
And then when
She goes out...
Into the belly of the
Naked city...
...I'll very rarely know
Her route.
Sometimes in her
High heeled
Shoes,
And low cut dress
That slides
Into the shadow of
Her perfect breasts...
...I'll see a love
That hides,
And ponder over
Who will hold her,
Turn her under
Light...
...Marvel at
Each subtle
Nuance,
Regardless of
How slight.
At times that look's
For me,
And then
She'll dress in
The night sky...
...Draped in stars,
That shine and sparkle...
Forced to live so high.
Tell me what
You dream,
Sweet star?...
...Your blue rose
Now in bloom.
...The night is
Teaching you so
Much...
...I long for your
Perfume
To rouse me
From my
Dark persuasion...
...At times that look's
For me.
...While all
My high
Hopes
Stick to raising...
I'll see you in my
Dreams.
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
Weeds
Like weeds among the flowers in my yard,
you sneak inside my soul and block the sun.
I wish at times like this my heart was hard...
there was a time when loving you was fun,
but now it feels like leeches at the lake;
the damages inside can’t be undone.
I should have known the tenderness was fake,
like pink flamingos at my Grandma’s house
or toothpaste icing on a birthday cake.
The spark of passion inside me was doused
and wisdom seems a lousy end reward.
I watch you walk away, once-trusted spouse,
and prove my dreams were just a house of cards,
like weeds among the flowers in my yard.
(c) 2016 - dustygrein
**This terza rima sonnet is dedicated to the woman who for 34 years shared my world and my name, and now is just somebody that I used to know.
The Dark Sun
(a ravenelle royale in trochaic octameter)
Free from worry she is spinning, dancing, twirling, brightly grinning,
as her final day’s beginning, ’neath the dark sun, ruby red.
Caring not about the glances of her neighbors as she dances
on this final day of chances, ’neath the dark sun, ruby red.
In the sky the birds are wheeling. She finds joy to be appealing
for this final day of feeling ’neath the dark sun, ruby red,
dying dark sun overhead.
Scientific fears abiding--on errors, all hopes were riding;
at the end, there was no hiding from the dark sun flying high.
First warnings were taken lightly; now, while holding loved ones tightly
near the end, the light bursts brightly from the dark sun flying high.
Most have no real way of learning, ’til deep red, the clouds are turning;
in the end the air starts burning from the dark sun flying high,
dying dark sun in the sky.
All their great works torn asunder, instantly, in silent thunder.
No one left to sit and wonder where the dark sun used to be.
An expanding glowing bubble rapidly it’s size had doubled;
nothing left to cause more trouble where the dark sun used to be.
Super-nova quickly growing, eating planets without slowing;
empty space is what’s left, showing where the dark sun used to be,
dark sun once, now memory.
(c) 2016 - dustygrein
**Note on the form. The ravenelle is a form I created in 2014, based on what is arguably the most well-known trochaic poem of all time, The Raven by E.A.Poe. It is a form well-suited to story telling, and I am--first and foremost--a story teller. This apocalyptic sci-fi journey was done as a more tightly woven version of the ravenelle, known as a ravenelle royale. It uses a half-line rhyming pattern with a refrain that ties it together: (a-a,a-B1 c-c,c-B1 d-d,d-B1 B2) and is crafted in strict meter, with the forceful up-and-down emphasis of trochees (HARD-soft syllable pairs).
Contraption
Quietly deteriorating
Still it remains, repeating
Still it repeats, entreating
Inaction to reaction
The stuttering ticking
Of a dying contraption
Stanzas for minutes
Dawns seconds to verses
From spring to gear and cogs
Spins coherence in symbolism
Mechanism of maladies
Yet remedies, its purpose
Ceases tracking moments
Instead tallies my torturous
Thoughts turned ruinous
And tactless are my hands
Within this malfunctioning
Apparatus now hazardous
Beyond these repetitions
Respite surely requires
Toil of reparation, but
Now unfound, the vitiation
Presently beyond mending
This contraption's creation
Designed for dilapidation
Turns time to steady
Turnings of deterioration
Still it remains, repeating
Still it repeats, entreating
A vexation of my senses
My slipping adolescence
Corroding to stillness
Still it remains, repeating,
Still it repeats, entreating
Inaction to reaction
The stuttering ticking
Of a reviving contraption
Have I Told You Lately That I Love You ?
Before I ever laid eyes on my husband we wrote to each other. I got to
know this person by the way he wrote. One day he mentioned a line from a
famous song. It went something like this, "You fill my heart with gladness, take
away all my sadness, ease my troubles, that's what you do."
There was that one day when my phone rang and as I picked it up the song was playing. Oh yeah, there was another time when he slipped the CD in the car player while we were in a parking lot, and then we were dancing to this song. I thought it was silly and incredibly romantic.
Can you guess what is our most requested song while we are out somewhere and there is
dancing ? I will never tire of this song. It's our song :)
Cavalier
"I remember my first love."
I was dying but I still remembered you. Despite the trauma I faced, with you by my side it was erased. That's why you were my first love. Because very ache and pain was soothed by your touch and it's true that your love was the only burn that blazed in my body, in my heart.
