Monthly Archives: August 2011

Buried Poison

When night tickles light,

skeletons rush to shadows,

snakes to flower beds.


Stray moonbeams unveil

visions of vague illusions;

Untouchable sights


pray on flammable

minds – lurking, misleading till

a sly small spark stirs


the eyes to rise. And

blinded by the moment, a

friend becomes a fiend:


Honeysuckle’s venom sprays.

Leaves turned thorns, cut naked veins.

Earth turned grey reveals deep grave…

Inspiring Natasha Head, invites “…fellow word-bleeders…” to the stage at  d’Verse Poets-Pub i  OpenLinkNight ~ Week 7 ! This is my humble contribution tonight…

live behind

(c) AB Troen photographer

Shure mic, wooden stool,

cables, amp. cigarette buds.



checking sound  –  two-three-four…

inhale – one last passed



lights lay low, mellow mode,

start to float…

tempo… slow…


break – – – – –


(c) AB Troen, from Road to Salvation

play-talk, flirt and fling…

swing-or shuffle



airy lows, diction, flow.

impossible to hide the load-

invent – unfold – avoid the sold.


fallin’ free through shifting tunnels,

meter needs fast drive.

rhythms, groove, mo–tion soaring ———


erratic-in– my-mind:

stuck – scratched record plays re-plays

re-plays old ways, yeah- purple haze


naked scenes, fresh flesh, lean…              

mem-ries vague, missed details                                            

One too blind, too deaf to feel

lyrics lusty – crime revealed.

dare to sing too clear for him…


wand-ring eyes, embrace, unwind…

I live for this.




                                                               must leave be-


(c) AB Troen

~                                                               ~ ~                                                               ~

This is my entry for tonight’s #OpenLinkNight – 6, with dazzling hostess Claudia Schoenfeld, poet who jaywalks the moon…
So, come and join the fun at
dVerse-Poets Pub

Hot & Cold – Poetics Texture

This write is submitted for Poetics Texture at dVerse Poets-Pub, hosted by Victoria Ceretto-Slotto, published author as well as writer of live2write2day blog. The prompt she presented us with is the texture in poetry.


Dry we started out this night,

frigid, lonely, dunes apart.

promise lifts our harsh distrust,

we crave red steam – spicy, hot…


Desert sand glows with lust,

locks between my lips turned moist,

silent pants, misty pleasure

fill your hunger and my thirst.


heightened tension, free to fire, when

violent shrieks pierce our ears –

it’s red… it’s red! we cringe, I shiver,

cracks and gaps start surfacing.


Blush synthetics on my breasts,

we run, no time for sweet caress.

we grab, we shake our sleeping children,

rushing into metal grey.


Your glaucous sparkle, my greens and gold,           

touch each other from a distance.

with denim prayers for whiter days,

for silent nights,

for growing old.

~Struggling with major depression has carved many wrinkles and colored hairs grey. My partner in life is devoted, but sometimes it’s too hard for him to bare; Lately we’ve been working on closing the gap, trying to build trust. The guilt I carry is at times too heavy.

Also, I live in a land filled with distrust, anger and hatred. These past few days have got “hot” – with missiles fired on our homes, making things less quiet than usual. A house – five-minute drive from us – was hit, people injured, a couple killed. My “leaders” retaliate and so on and so forth… with little hope we wait…  ~~~ News: Cease fire declared… let’s hope it lasts! …

This write is about both fronts. I do live in the desert, and the days here are dry and the nights are cold.

I hope you read, perhaps connect and comment. Thank you.

deb  ~ ~

שירת יוסף - ቅኔ ዮሴፍ

אתר שירים אישי / የስነ ግጥም ብሎግ /

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