Don’t worry I won’t tell
about the way you stole my heart
over romance I tripped and fell
don’t worry I wont tell
over sugary notes I tripped and fell
bloodied by your pointed darts
don’t worry I wont tell
about the day you ripped my heart
I love it when I stumble over a drafted poem. This one penned in 2014 for Valentine’s Day
I marvel at winter’s bird
dance on the snow for me absurd
weightless they walk in worst blizzard
I marvel at winter’s bird
light like a feather or whispered word
I marvel at winter’s bird
my snow dance more cold than absurd
The bird’s out in the worst of today’s storm inspired me to shovel a path. “Less work for tomorrow.”
Stay warm and safe you who share something in common with “Winter’s Bird.”
Thunderous my feelings
blue eyes gaze into my soul
weak kneed tremble
thunder sends me reeling
the clouds clap with emotion
caught off guard I tumble
thunderous my feelings
blue eyes gaze into my soul
Triolet:
An eight- line stanza having just two rhymes and repeating the first line as the fourth and seventh lines, and the second line as the eighth.
The Triolet is a fun form to play with as it is short and sweet. I tend to take the primary line (1, 4and 7) and alter the words but not the sentiment. Have a go…
***
“The world is but a canvas to our imagination”
~Henry David Thoreau
Where does your imagination take you?????
It rained a blue and silent yawn
catching warm colors that suited
dancing yellows, reds and dawn
It rained a silent gazing yawn
dancing yellows, reds and dawn
I held my volume level muted
It rained for me a silent yawn
catching drops warm colors suited
The Triolet fits the prompt of silence nicely I think.
The Triolet: Its rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB and often all lines are in iambic tetrameter: the first, fourth and seventh lines are identical, as are the second and final lines, thereby making the initial and final couplets identical as well.
her mother’s beauty she wore
pink ribbon’s once danced on her head
when little sshe loved and adored
her mother’s beauty she wore
promise to be loved and adored
for the drugs she begged and pled
now her mother’s beauty she whored
pink ribbons danced on innocent’s head
*
” unique adoption market” he lied
her eyes glazed by addiction
“promise she a cared for child”
“yes, she will be wanted” he lied
“promise they will not hurt my child”
his eyes gleamed greedy conviction
” perfect opportunity” he lied
her world destroyed by addiction
*
pink ribbons soaked by tears
no one to chase sorrow away
she lived nightmare’s fears
pink ribbons soaked by tears
she lived nightmare’s fears
men lined up night and day
pink ribbons soaked by tears
no chasing sorrow away
There is nothing pretty or sweet about these pink hair ribbons. Symbolically they are defiled by the avarice and perversion of a world whose words are to protect children but whose actions are to treat them as chattel to be sold and used. When working with street kids, I asked where all the girls were.
“They are gone,” the brothers, cousins and friends would state. “They are chased down by mafia and state police and sold.”
I witnessed the night raids where children were chased down like rabid dogs in the streets. When I went home, I tried to raise awareness and financial support to create safe places for these children to go and be educated. No one wanted to believe that “this” the diabolical sale of children could be happening in our “compassionate” world. Years later that information is coming to the forefront – too late for many whose lives are already expired!!!
*
Photograph: “Ribbons” ©L. Moon 2013
I dance in dreams for him
my tears they fall on solemn days
perhaps he cannot see me spin
but if he could but touch the rays
he sees my tears on solemn days
if he could but grasp the rays
I’d dance in moonlit dreams for him
he’ll catch my tears on solemn days
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/10/weekly-writing-challenge-pages/
Do you feel a remnant of my warmth in this place?
Or Am I just a wraith of shadowy memory?
where there is naught but a hint or a trace
do you feel a remnant of my warmth in this place?
where there is naught but a hint or a trace
once I walked there in the colors of the sea
do you feel a remnant of my warmth in this place?
naught but a wraith of shadowy memory…
Photography: “Impression” L. Moon copyright 2013
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