dancing to the edge

the writing was on the wall as
we danced around the edges
of nonchalance and disdain
I rubbed you the wrong way
placed you on the back foot
you prodded at my insecurities
picking over the carcass of a pervious life
fury darkens your eyes to ebony
at times I lift you eight foot tall
or cower you to a tiny speck
we both knew sometime
we would give up the matador stance
of bravado and flashing cloaks
stripped down
you and me
together.


KD 29/10/12

The other writers have their work over at The Mag..take a look...join in...go on!!

Thirteen Bells

Thirteen bells ring out 

peels through the foggy  October skies

stillness

where the truths and promises swirl 

times of wonder 

 dread of dread.

I walk on rocky shores 

 horizons obliterated

uncurled serpents snapping at my feet

while tears salty from spray and melancholy

feel grainy on my skin

locked in a small cave of stone

to go back 

or onward roam?

hampered by paupers tales 

crumpled tight in pale blue papers

and pushed deep into musty pockets

with old thread and faded ribbons.

I pick up flat stones 

smoothed with the tides of the moon 

skim them into the mist

as a prayer

they settle

with barely a splash.

KD 20/10/12

Don't ask me what this is about..i have no idea...its been a tough week so perhaps i'd just like to go and hide!!

Go and see the other at The Mag they are amazing..xx

Hopes garden

image...midnight snack 1984 Curtis Wilson Cost

the very essence of me
is distilled and edited
pared down to the thinnest rice paper sheet
so transparent as to be barely there
footsteps dancing lightly 
on my patch of earth
small indentations left 
soil through toes
seeds scattered from fingertips
drove deep and mystic
we wait
for the bounty. 

KD 14/10/12


This weeks effort for the Mag over at Tess's place.....tell me what does the picture mean to you??

Weeping Forsythia

Sick woman 1665 Jan Steen


In closed and curtained rooms
the pendulum swings down
with the passing time.
Wooden floors creak as you tiptoe by
hoping not to waken me, shivering
I pull close my paisley shawl, eyes closing.

Thick air clouded with scents of weeping forsythia and burdock
my china cup cloudy with remnants of potions to cure me,
scattered dandelion and angelica seed,
dust ground down.

As night draws in, the candlelight flickers
shadows of the watchers in corners
and in a room close by a baby mews
for the wet nurse.

KD 7/10/12.


I give many thanks that last week my daughter gave birth to a healthy, beautiful little girl,and they are both well. With gratitude.xx

Do go and see what the other writers and poets made of this image at Tess's The Mag.