Poetry

Gargoyle

It’s always been in me.
This blackness,
this lust for the taste of the blood of innocents,
of those with whom I fall in love
And I fall so easily.
It takes naught but the glimpse of a fair lip bitten,
‘tween teeth so small and delicate,
or the scent of a drop of milk without a tongue to lick it,
or the hitch of breath; a sob of grief and what am I to do?
I am not made of stone.
I give and I give and I give and then I take…
And then I am again left alone,
to dine upon my hopeless sorrow.

Why oh why can I not just stop
this endless circle of pain and love and misery?

#SoCS – How Now?

Pulling
Pushing
Manipulating me and yet you seem to sit centered
Unmoving
Smiling
With your magnifying glass like a student of ant life
Studying
Probing
My mind for ways to tease and torture while I’m
Running
Avoiding
Your sunbeam prism ray
Scorching
Searching
For the best way to leave me
Pleading
Pleasing
Or trying my best to because you bring out the
Begging
Simpering
Bitch in me with your
Pushing
Pulling

Stream of Consciousness Saturday is brought to you by me, here: http://lindaghill.com/2015/10/09/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-1015/ Check it out!

socs-badge-2015

romance

romance comes
in so many forms

for some brightly lit in the sun, water falls and picnics

gah

what of that? sickly sweet and taffy cream ant infested bologna!

romance is this my love:

wine as red as blood
candle wax dripping upon skin
and pain
pain as sharp as the knife which i use
to carve your lust for me into your chest
as piercing as my body into yours – the physicality of romance

can you feel it?
can you feel the torture that i endure upon days
and nights of not knowing where you are
what you are doing and with whom?

romance is a fistful of angel hair and fingernail clippings
romance is a mindfull of possession and need

i hand it to you on a plate of flesh and bone

for you know as well as i
romance kills

doesn’t it my love?

gently

touches my heart
like music
breathes in my soul
your love is
my saving grace

Unsightly sights

We’re closed for the night
all tucked in just you ‘n’ me
alone at last;
you with your tie and your shiny hair
and me in uncomfortable stockings

In the dark, with the lights off
who cares if they knock on the glass doors
we have nothing left to sell
except what we sell ourselves;
heated breath, exchanged, no receipts

Can they see us shedding the clothes
of mannequins? haha is that what they think?
Thru the window my skin is pale and if
I stand still enough perhaps
my porcelain skin will look to their eyes
innocent window dressing

You feel my radiant lust upon your chest
that I care not what they think
as I untie your tie and drop your drawers
and then the window dresser appears to be
doing the unspeakable with his porcelain companion
at closing time.

socs – mudai (untitled)

you throw open the doors
thrust out your chest
and bare your scars
like trophies of a life
indescribably regretful
you hand me the glass
a rough shard to magnify
the edges of your wounds
and you say
“examine
but don’t
judge…”
and all i want
is to pick out the flecks
of pain
like sand, never
letting
you
heal
your words are your pearls
beautiful
your voice screams your guilt
heaviest of metals
and all i want
is to bow to your agony

let me sew up your gashes
where your art escapes
and bleeds out your passion

…but no
if you stop bleeding
i’ll die.

badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

Find Stream of Consciousness Saturday here, and join in: http://lindaghill.com/2015/01/16/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-january-1715/

riptide

mind awash with what might have been
what will be
what might be
is all
ripped
tied
and ruined

‘f

‘f you gaze at the stars’ cosmic patterns

‘f you hear the crash of the waves from the other side of the sea

‘f you sing a melody into the air tonight, will you hear the sound of my voice

‘f i sing in cosmic harmony?

Survival

In the face of what is to come
Signs written in the clouds
Of happiness and harmony
The imprint of a God who cares

In the rain of our existence
A rainbow grows on the horizon
Arching our thoughts to heights of hope
And placing in our pockets the jest of gold

From the sunshine that presses
Against the faces of young and old alike
Comes the knowledge that we remain here
Even after the storm

Let spirits comfort
Let the Angels sing
Let the God who cares
Rest his hand gently upon the hearts of we who remain

L.G.H. January 25, 2005

SoCS – Memory

A picture,
the scent on the clothes you left behind,
and a memory
is all I have left.

She places the photograph on the table beside the mirror in her bedroom and stands back to look at it. The frame is guilt and the image is one of profound regret. A ball forms in her chest, a balloon of grief waiting to burst.

But the time is not right. She can’t let it go. Not yet. There are many things to do; arrangements to be made, people to see, hands to shake, and mouths to feed. Explanations to be invented.

And then there was the private eye to take care of. He knows everything.

Her political aspirations can afford no compromise.

badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions

This post is part of SoCS! Join in now! http://lindaghill.com/2014/10/31/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-november-114/