Sunday, August 21, 2016



Dark flutters
words melted like butter
burn the tongue, her hand on your shoulder 
on a night from which every dream has been wrung
I looked for your face but it was wrong,
wrong for me to come here
with my snakes

wrapped around
the sad mistakes truth makes.

posted for   real toads

Note: This is a triquain, (a seven line poem with syllables of 3-6-9-12-9-6-3) to which I have arbitrarily added a final couplet (3-6.)

Optional Musical Accompaniment

Image: author and title unknown, fair use via the internet.
No copyright infringement intended.


  1. "the sad mistakes truth makes": How it's so that life is a series of things that happen to us. A lone path or a junction where we meet; everything is inundated with the morose stink of reality where sadness and truth have coalesced and deception is sweet.
    A powerful write.

  2. Truth as a snake... I love the idea of the bites, and how it wrung the dreams.. (or wrong them even)... This could be my consciousness whisper the unwelcome words even.

  3. That final couplet adds a cracker of a finale! There is something about owning one's snakes that makes a powerful statement.

  4. "...the sad mistakes truth makes" really strikes my heart with its accuracy. I love "a night from which every dream has been wrung." I recognize this landscape.

  5. Snakes wrapped around the mistakes truth makes, like a strange caduceus for the lovesick. Sometimes it is so hard to know what's right or best to do in a situation and that goes double when it's about the heart. This is like a thimble of bitter medicine; required, not necessarily helpful, like a dunning for ever having cared.

  6. Thank you for this haunting journey into a reality

  7. I love how you dance with the word "wrong". How it can be his face, or her search, or both... It gives the poem a sense of eeriness that goes deep, deep, deep...

  8. Truth can bring its own venom. There is such pain when the heart must walk in the dark.

  9. Caduceus, where art thou? Sinuous and deft, both. That final couplet stays with me ~


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats