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
always words for you
there will always be words for you
long after the credits roll and the lights are off
long after the gate is closed and locked;
way after midnight but just before the dew
there will always be words left just for you.
amazing adverbs
nascent nouns
haphazard hyperboles
pretentious prepositions
annoying adverbs
painstaking pronouns
vacuous verbs
i will always have something to say about you.
you are light when darkness begins
you are my joy whenever my sorrow ends,
you are the pick-me-up on my heaviest day-
my constant pursuer, my closest friend-
yes….
i will always have words for you.
Morning
The birds sing their morning crescendo
Telling each other
Their lofty plans for the day
Smoofy comes in from catting around
He settles into his tower for sleep
I make a second cup of coffee
The sky takes on a soft pink
The day begins softly
The garbage truck rolls
Picking up the load from yesterday
I stretch my tired and worn body
Remembering my youth
Remembering how the days ahead
Are less than the days behind
The lights go off
The sun and the birds sing the morning together
Smoofy is oblivious
I wonder how many mornings
I will have ahead
Will I use them well
Or am I a bird chirping lofty ideals
In the early morning light?
Am I a day late garbage truck?
Am I the pink morning lost
When the afternoon sun swelters?
Am I the second cup of coffee
Looking for that charge?
Maybe I am all of it
An early morning
In the late summer of my life
Searching for lofty ideals
Dreaming
Instead of sleeping
When you look at me and smile
When you look at me and smile,
I do not melt.
I do not crumble.
I do not flutter.
When you look at me and smile,
I do not feel vulnerable.
I do not get weak in the knees.
My mind does not go to the gutter.
When you look me and smile, instead,
I stand a little taller.
I grow a thicker skin.
My confidence streams.
When you look at me and smile,
I am a better person,
and I smile back because
I know I can achieve my dreams.