OneWord: architecture

relationships are not born
but they are built.
they have an architecture all their own
moments building on moments
each level dependent on that which came before.
strong ones have solid foundations
upon which every successive story rests.

“Eternity”

The long night comes to a close;
whispered words of seduction
tickle the hairs on the back of my neck
and send a shiver racing down my spine.
I take a breath, and close my eyes.

The waiting begins;
each moment stretched out
spreading eternity into the crevices
between breaths.

Your presence gone leaves emptiness
winding around me like a serpent
daring me to give chase,
to take the first step along the road
that leads to ruin.

 

Written in response to Carry On Tuesday’s prompt this week, which is ‘The long and winding road”.  I opted not to use the phrase by itself, and worked the words into the poem instead.

“Forbidden”

opaline shimmer across
moonlit skin
the thrum of tribal beats
enticing her to movement

catastrophic wonder
draws onlookers to observe
calamity’s grace and power

sinuous steps
her arms arch above
a scorpion’s tail
poised to poison

in Burma this dance is
seduction;
in Spain, passion;
in America
it’s hidden in back rooms

carmine lips smile
tasting of cherries and
stale cigarettes
and wine

she moves (doesn’t she?)
casting a spell – an incantation of motion
derived of soul; eliciting heart
elevating, fabricating, erecting.

opaline skin, tribal movement
catastrophic power
sinuous poison steps
dance is hidden seduction
lips taste of cherry wine
an incantation for erection

A second offering to the prompt over at Reverie Twenty-One, this one using the form he suggested.

first poemlet: mention your birthstone
second poemlet: use a word with three or more syllables
third poemlet: mention your zodiac sign
fourth poemlet: use at least three capital letters (“I” on its own, and the beginnings of lines, do not count)
fifth poemlet: pick a color and use at least two synonyms/varieties/shades of it
sixth poemlet: use as many different kinds of punctuation mark as you can
seventh poemlet: surprise us with something fancy!

“Aurelia’s Letters”

Image is part of Roger Ballen’s Boarding House series.

Aurelia’s Letters

A little girl’s spirit haunted the narrow passage
between my bedroom and the one down the hall.
Each night I  bolted the door, thinking myself
secure against outsiders.
Yet each night I heard her footsteps.

Once I woke to the sound of something
thrust beneath the door.
I found, by dim moonlight, construction paper
on which designs were scrawled;
terrifying images which I tossed away.

My sleepless nights became chronic; who could rest
with such happenings?
I rose weary from my bed each morning,
a rasp in my lungs betrayed a growing
sickness, a sickness I ignored.

Each night again, in pools of filtered moonlight
abstracted imaged appeared beneath the door.
I tried to rationalize, to lecture myself
on the reality of what these letters from beyond
might really be.

Still they came, these quizzical drawings
fraying my nerves, worsening my sleep-deprived worries
until I collapsed, finding refuge in fever-dreams.
There I again beheld the girl – they called her Mixie –
sitting on a black and silver piano bench.

“Pneumonia.” said the doctor, come to check on me
when I didn’t come to supper. He fed me foul tonic
and put cool cloths on my brow and behind my neck.
I heard the latchstring pull and shuddered,
but it was just the landlady.

I never found those drawings again,
never felt the omniscient presence of the little girl
or received her relentless letters.
Perhaps she’s moved on, or perhaps she found another
feverish soul to torment.

I once again took on the challenge of using the words from Shawna’s Monday Melting prompt in order, and using every one of them. This is rather different from my usual style, but it was fun to write!

Also linked to Poets United’s Poetry Pantry #100.

“Pedicure”

sun-drenched pebbles line a small stretch of beach
burnished by the ceaseless crash of Mediterranean waves
bits of barnacles loosened from austere guardian stones
and the brittle husks of crabs and prawn
feel rough, harsh against sand-smoothed feet

 

Written using most of the words from this week’s Sunday Whirl. The picture is my own, from Salobreña, Spain.