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.

instrumental-men-surround.

 

checking sound  –  two-three-four…

inhale – one last passed

around.

 

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

-sing

 

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.

 

                                  sigh…

 

                                                               must leave be-

hind.

(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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