The Damned

The Damned

Alone under the concrete dome,
dead smell of piss at the newstand of bliss
but Aquaman lives. Superman forgives 

Come mind your sisters. Watch out for the misters
except for this one, and he’s never done. 

Run at the sky, trying to fly
don’t mind the paincoming, falling is numbing.
Paint out the screams, bruises, bad dreams. 

Come home, don’t you go. The neighbors will know. 
Don't playact, don't shudder, don’t you love your mother?

~June 2012, revised January 2013

posted for   real toads

Challenge: Words Count with Mama Zen

The challenge today is to write 'the hard stuff;' something normally avoided because it's just too difficult to deal with, and to keep it to 75 words or less.  This was originally a much much longer poem I never expected to post.

Header image: newstand,  by dickuhne, on flick'r

Footer image: play time, by deszedol, on flick'r

Shared under a Creative Commons license

Broken Lantern

Broken Lantern
(incanted)

Cricket sing and beat the bat

deaf against a stony post.

Rub your legs that can't be fat;

chase away the sonar ghost.

Broken lantern lost his light

thrown on the rocks of endless night,

snakeskin succubus lost her bite

cast out by a wafer and an old man's fright.

A broken hag saw her mirrored face

plowed up for flowers with a double-bit brace.

Changeling child found a cold embrace

in a boomerang's claw, in a fickle grace.

Light was broken, curse was spoken

though she made no sound. It lay on the ground.

The sun gave a shout, the well gave out

the cow went dry, but the bishop ate trout.

In a hawk heavy sky, when the moon was round

two doves died fast, two sins flew past

the nightingale singing her bloody last

of a lightness broken, a curse soft spoken.

Closed door womb, a raddled room

littered with toys as a baby's tomb

where the curse was spoken, where light lay broken;

where the babe's bound tight and gently lies

in arms of steel where the knife never dies.

Too soon, too soon, for the hard lullabies,

for the waking sleep never meant to keep

where the curse is spoken, the light is broken.

Cricket sing and fool the bat

deaf and blind, lost and found.

Wild wolf howl, wail black cat;

light is broken and lies on the ground.

~November 2012

If you'd like to hear the poem read by the author, please click below

broken lantern (incanted) by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub

Image: Light Blue, by Keoni Cabral, on flick'r
Shared under a creative commons license.

Quills

Quills

Living with her

was like living with roaches,

flimsy, easy to kill but never
really dead, always stutter running

always more hidden than shown

always a scuttling when the switch flipped,

impossible to hold accountable.

In a hard country, the dog chased

the porcupine

catching a hundred razor

barbed quills in his face every time.

Every time, they'd cut and pull them while he cried, 
saying, he's learned now, 

he won't do it again.

Before the blood was dulled dry, he'd be up

hunting, disfigured nose twitching, bantam
brain eclipsed, swollen with the useless rage
of the violated; just so, the child came back at her 
teeth bared, howling outside the den, nose down

for the yelling, the curse, the barbs in its

face, a hundred times.

In the rank stillness Mama Roach
drops her eggcase on the drainboard
casual as shedding a dirty thong.

Mating. Eating. Her own survival
absorbs her, and there will be more
eggs, many more. It's nothing
personal.

~August 2012

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub
 I'll be hosting tonight at the pub, so come join us. Doors open at 3:00 PM EST and link-in is live through tomorrow midnight.

If you would like to hear the poem read by the author, click below:

quills by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Header photo: Porcupine quills, by lamiot 
from Stekelvarken.JPG (Image:Stekelvarken.JPG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Unspecial Delivery

Unspecial Delivery

One

night it

arrived, a

perfect package    

though so many are damaged in transit.

The carrier ignored the sharp return

to sender scrawled

resenting

on the

face.

In

deep black

two stars fall

overnighted

express, and still she sees only junk mail.

April~May 2012

posted for    Poetics:Tools of the Trade  at dVerse Poets Pub 

Karin Gustafson hosts this weekend, and she's asked us to pick a profession and write a poem using the verbs associated with it--or using an occupation as a springboard. I have sort of mixed up the whole prompt with a Cuisinart, using the terms of a postal worker's lot at random.

and for    real toads

Kerry's Mini Form Challenge: Tetractys

Quoting Kerry: "Tetractys, a syllable counting form invented by Ray Stebbing, consists of at least 5 lines of 1, 2, 3, 4, 10 syllables (total of 20). Tetractys can be written with more than one verse, but must follow suit with an inverted syllable count." This is a triple one.

Photo: starstruck, by kiera faye, on flick'r

Shared under a Creative Commons License

Cameo

Cameo

Not much

was asked and not much

was given. All that was taken

forever

gone still returns in dreams slowly

seeping  up, filling empty 

spaces.

December 2011

Posted for     Sunday Mini-Challenge   at Real Toads

Kerry's challenge today is the cameo form: "The Cameo is a purely syllabic form consisting of six lines with the following syllable count: 2, 5, 8, 3, 8, 7, 2.  It is English in origin and is well-suited to a brief portrait in words, or character-based piece."

Image: White Gold & Blue Agate Mother & Child Rhombus Cameo 

via google image search

 originating retail site

The Kitten and the Witch

The Kitten and the Witch

a fable for Halloween

The casement windows

fitted with lead

meant to keep evil out

kept it in instead

the rowan tree with berry red

died by the door,

then all was dead

save the witch and the kitten Mandragore

His jade green glance

saw through the floor

where the dead were put

that came before

His bright black paw was

soft and sure

as he paced the pentagram back and fore

The witch was caught

with ashen mouth

frozen in limb

and deep in doubt

but Mandragore

danced the charm full out.

The runes shimmered on the floor

No demon came but a child was born

where the dead held sway.

The witch jumped up

and fought that day

until the shadows were no more,

and now they play

by the open door,

the witch, the boy and Mandragore.

October 2011

With thanks to Brendan for his many celebrations of the feline, 
such as this one in Octoberal,

 at Oran's Well

Header image: courtesy google image search
Footer image: Witch and kitten, 1988 (c) joy ann jones

Mother and Child

Mother and Child


Such gentleness
To have launched a thousand wars
Such love
To have burned so many bundles of flesh
Such folly
To believe beyond compassion
Such hope
That things can be healed

Behind the mother’s mask
A child.
Behind the child’s mask
A flower.
Such ancient frailty
To remain
Evernew.

December 2010

Posted  for Magpie Tales  and also for  Friday Flash 55  at G-Man's place.

December 15, 2010

Uncredited photo provided by Magpie Tales removed

(Poem includes an old informal haiku I wrote earlier this fall.)