The Poetry Marathon

Khaki

Mostly I wear sensible shoes

Conservative jewelry is what I choose.

My favorite shade of lipstick is light bronze.

Soft rock is the station where my radio belongs.

 

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “Piccadilly Pink”

 

I wear slips under questionable skirts,

“Oh rats” is the extent of my curse,

I watch 60 Minutes on Sunday nights;

Vanilla ice cream is my delight.

 

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “Cherries Jubilee”

 

I like to paint my toenails red,

I sing dirty songs in my head,

I fantasize about raunchy tattoos,

“Wild Child” inked above my stiletto shoes.

 

My life is khaki,

But I dream in “I’m Not Really a Waitress” red.

hour 3 poem

fishing…

troubling

the moon…

after the swim

of a few fishes

creating an eclipse

a red-eared slider…

troubling the fishing rod

only the wind…

the fisherman wakes up

from dreamy reflections

 

Dream

In a dream I see you,

clear as light of day,

the smoke surrounding you vanished,

walls around you disappeared –

and you are no more than a memory

for me to forget.

Fourth poem

The last of my kind
And it’s all my fault.
Trapped in the war
I brought to a halt.

And so on I travel
Along the time stream
In subconscious hopes
That I can be redeemed

Opalescent Outflows

Poem Four For the Hour Four

15th of the calendar, finished dining
At the best French cuisine
Had the best Amanti Vino sip
Eiffel couldn’t explain
Temptations of the whirling trumpets
From Tibetan to Paris waterspout
It showers eerily, knocks me crazy
The cackles from the windows, then towards
The witnessing cold-wither-proof rooftop
Invite his body to wrap me
All around
And the pulling force exaggerates
Bed stories filling all the corners of the room
‘twas a game of murmurs , beats and bites
Then on and on, naked surrealism
Yelling trajectory of giggles
The monsoon blessed the ecstasy
The would be another Harlequin’s whispers
Of sweet nothings
On a rainy day,
an exclaimed anniversary.

(c) Ceri Naz
photo used reverts to the original owner

Mystery

Blood is dry on arrival
Possibly been dead all week
He must repress the stomach
For the corpse started to reek
There had to be a motive
For the killer he world seek
Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed

The witnesses he gathered
Were unaware of the crime
The list of suspects was few
As he sorted through the grime
He needed to find the fiend
Possible lives ticked with time
Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed

Another victim deceased
More bodies began to drop
The killer was a braggart
Leaving tauntings for the cop
But this pride led to defeat
As he confessed in a shop
Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed

The killer was found
Executed now
His killers slept sound
No sweat on their brow
Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed

Philophobia

She burned like a candle
he watched her flicker a bit as she lit the way
and he decided
he would rather stumble in the dark without her
than need her
so he blew her out and she faded

Forge (Hour Four)

She told me she wouldn’t be mine.

Such insolence from such a common girl.

Perhaps she knows that, while common,

She is nothing but common.

She is something rare, and I don’t know what,

And I suppose I never will.

I am on fire,

Hotter than the forge,

To be shown this brand

Of disrespect, by a girl in the foolish bloom of youth.

So foolish, the bloom of youth.

 

I told him I’d never be his.

For I am in love with a secret.

I have been shown the magic of this world,

And now can never be a common man’s wife.

I’ll never live the common life.

The common life has already burned,

Like the coal that heats his forge.

I am the iron that has melted

To take a new shape.

I am molded by wings,

Those great, dark wings,

That took me far away,

In the moment I first saw them.

Six Pomegranates (Greek Mythology – Tanka ) 4/24

 

 

Six pomegranates,
All that Kore had to eat…
Six pomegranates
Made her mother curse the Earth
And Winter gave her first steps…

© 2015 Antoinette LeRoux

Mother, why don’t you talk?

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