Sunday, 22 March 2015

Reawakening



In the dappled light of spring
you caught my soul,
carefully you plucked it
turning it over in the palm of your hand,
inspecting its hidden depths.
It squirmed under your spotlight
those eyes
painfully stripping away at the surface
scratching the hardened veneer of shame
your nails prise it open.
Laid bare now
blinking in the meadow light
tender shoots, once lost,
stretch, carefree, self possessed
shooting wayward tendrils around your wrists.

KD 22/3/15

Magpie Tale Number 262...for the other writers work go here!




Sunday, 15 March 2015

Divine sadness.

Image result for york minster

we find ourselves in
dim cold rooms
a stone clad sadness
of bitter hate
a divine liturgy repeated daily.

KD 15/3/15

For the other poets work go here


Sunday, 1 March 2015

Twist of fate.


Lee Miller in Hitlers bathtub 
Munich 1945 by D.E.Sherman.



This rain never stops
it gathers
in stagnant puddles of despair
insidiously soaking through our skin.
We cling on,
slipping through the mud of emotions
that even now
are masked
camouflaged
denied.
Their boots mark out a grid reference
which we skirt around.
Distant trucks rumble
as hope sinks,
now the lowest depths yet.
Wash me clean
(a scented soaped sponge
an exquisite memory)
scrub the numbers from my wrist
and twist my hair dry
droplets of fate splash on your feet
hold my hand
as we walk onward together.


KD 1/3/15
Number 260 the other writers work is here.






Sunday, 15 February 2015

Naughty little secret.



Kiss my lips as you used to
seek me out from my invisibility.
I am hidden,
wrapped in words never spoken,
a darned tear
camouflaged in the weave,
a novella of our lives
intense,
         distant,
                    rebuked.
A thread  will reel us back
like the stray needles to the magnet,
close,
       tempted,
                  caught.

Light the candles,
caress oil down my back
whisper your intentions
into my hair.

Fading back into linen panels
only your scent, left on my skin
keeps my memory of your touch alive.
shhh...
your fingers to my mouth
tell me I am yours,
your naughty little secret.

KD 15/2/15

For the other poets work go here.   

     
       









Thursday, 12 February 2015

Darkness Divine


Today's writing prompt, make a poem out of a page of a book.

***************

with fragrant knots
a passion sweet with glory
hurt beneath
shadows,
darkness divine.

*****************

Monday, 9 February 2015

Inside.

“I write because I am alone and move through the world alone. No
one will know what has passed through me... I write because there
are stories that people have forgotten to tell, because I am a
woman trying to stand up in my life... I write out of hurt and how
to make hurt okay; how to make myself strong and come home,
and it may be the only real home I'll ever have.” Natalie Goldberg.


image Edith Voggegut



The lines gives a subtle nod to her age
her laughter makes you look back
with interest,
flushed slightly red,
cheeks glow, while those lips
often speak  inappropriately.
Arched eyebrows
expressive, some would say 
are penciled on, in places.
Still lithe and vibrant
movements sassy,
boldly confident as she moves down the street
always aware of eyes following
that too short skirt,
those clicking heels.
She exudes that quality you just can't place,
momentarily, just out of your reach
a trace of the most luscious scent, a whisper,
a top note caught on the breeze.
Look inside and the story changes,
a vintage rag-bag of emotions
vie for dominance, 
confidence wanes to shyness,
feline turns to a plain gray mouse.
Time makes plates spin out of control
as she dashes to catch moments,
to etch them on her heart
before they get forgotten.

KD 9/2/15

For Magpie Tales poets go here. also for day 11 of a creative writing course.


Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Shadow Girl

Shadow Girl.
I never gave you a chance
once I discovered you
my tiny secret
you were condemned
a fluttering heart,
ignored.
Now, I think of you often
my little shadow girl
curled up, floating,
I like to think you smiled
but maybe you just screamed
at my indifference.
On a good day I can justify my case,
on a dark night I pull you out of my pocket,
hold you close, make you real
along with ashes of roses
and torn up love letters
wrapped with pink silk ribbon.

KD 4/2/15


This is a poem from a prompt from a 30 day creative writing course I am taking part in.