Weaponised

freyathewriter 12 Comments

Image – author’s own

bitter you are, with your lemon sharp teeth,
spouting cruel words from far beneath 
the rasp of your tongue and the knife of your smile,
you may possess beauty, but your character is vile,
your acidic ways are a corrosive salt crown,
your thorns drawing blood from the hearts that you’ve found
and cast aside, they’re so obsolete 
watching you fall from your high horse is delectably sweet 

attack you I must for your arrogant ways,
your character is rotting, there is a malaise
in the depths of your soul (if you have one left),
you may be quite empty, utterly bereft
of love, life and laughter, of joy and delight,
I see there is nothing, something’s not right, 
the source of your venom is just a pretence
it’s a shield, not a sword – it’s all a defence 

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse Open Link Night, I discovered a new-to-me poetry prompt – W3. Organised by David over at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, each week a different poet is Poet of the Week, who’s poem each participant reads before submitting their poem in response to the prompt. The poems are then read by the Poet of the Week who selects the next week’s Poet of the Week.

W3 Prompt #85: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, ladysighs, has prompted us to compose two verses according to the following specifications:

  • “Opposites”:The first and last word of each stanza must be opposites of one another;
    • The two stanzas must use different opposites.
  • No restrictions on form, length, meter, or rhyme;
  • Thematic: Write about emotions, attitudes, and/or moods;

This was fun! I hope you enjoy reading this poem – do hop on over to the link above on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog to read more of the wonderful poems. You could even take part yourself!

dVerse Quadrille Monday – Nestled

freyathewriter 16 Comments

Image – author’s own

an eiderdown blanket
muffling, mittening
soft fluffy kittening 
mountains and crags
of my Welsh hideaway 
marshmallowed, angelic
church bells celebrating
carol singers harmonic
heavenly sent
crag-cradled moon hanging
in its star spangled hammock
small creatures rest easy
nestled, hibernating
under a comforter of snow

*****

This week in dVerse Quadrille Monday, our welcoming host Björn asked us to be inspired by the theme of snow, it being winter in the northern hemisphere. Of course, it being a quadrille, there absolutely must be 44 words in the poem, no more and no less. I’ve counted my offering several times, so I hope I’ve managed to count correctly!

My poem is inspired by where I am now, in rural Wales, half way up a mountain. This time last year I was living on the south coast of England and, according to my Facebook photo memories, it was a hard, hard frost, followed by snow, just in time for my removal van to arrive (anxious times, but the removal firm were brilliant). Currently, we have no snow here, but last December we had a blanket of it and I took photos, so this poem is my interpretation of that time.

I am off to read lots of snow poems now. Do head on over there too and read the imaginative offerings of the poets who make up this wonderful dVerse poetry community – and why not take part yourself?!

The watcher – W3 Prompt

freyathewriter 13 Comments

Image – author’s own

Those hands,
those deliberate hands
stroking the covers, the pages
caressing them with fingers gloved in leather
I saw them, those fingers, turning page, after page
after page.
Closing a book
placing it to one side
taking another from the pile
set, neatly, tidily, monumentally in the aisle

Those eyes,
Those appraising eyes
looking down, and, then up,
caressing me with ice grey, narrowed in thought
reading me in place of the words on the page
after page
Closing a book
placing me to one side
taking another from the pile
setting me neatly, tidily, placing me in your file

His lips,
his tongue that he slips
between his teeth, fingers he licks
gloved flingers that flip
through pages of books
that he sees but not reads, his covert, foul needs
barely hidden from sight
in the library at night.

A crescendo is reached,
my fear, lurking, creeps
boils out of my skin
I shall not hide from him
I rise, tall and strong,
take my stand
stride my stride
I

walk
to
his
side

I see you
I say
this is the last day that you do this
in your gloved, threatening way
I’m taking a leaf right out of your book
Filing you away, waiting for the day
Until you’re erased and deleted

And I will say
Let him look

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse Open Link Night, I discovered a new-to-me poetry prompt – W3. Organised by David over at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, each week a different poet is Poet of the Week, who’s poem each participant reads before submitting their poem in response to the prompt. The poems are then read by the Poet of the Week who selects the next week’s Poet of the Week.

W3 Prompt #84: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Selma, has prompted us to write a memory poem reflecting on and celebrating personal memories and experiences, which often evoke feelings of nostalgia, joy, or sadness. She stipulated that it must be between 100 and 300 words long, and must end with ‘Let him/her look’.

I wouldn’t necessarily classify my poem as being nostalgic, but it was definitely inspired by sadness and a heft dollop of fear.

I hope you enjoy reading this poem – do hop on over to the link above on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog to read more of the wonderful poems. You could even take part yourself!