Whisper in my Mind

There is a whisper in my mind that tempts me to fear….

….as death grips its silent hold

…..and governments slide on their lies

There is a whisper in my mind that tells me to flee….

….as locusts munch us into famine

….and the earth quakes with premonition

There is a whisper in my mind that trains me to follow….

…as whispy markets crash

…and  panicked buyers hoard

Oh rage RAGE against this exponential storm!

For its ever etched trickle,

moves with ominous pace,

ever faster,

collecting inexorably

into a raging waterfall

Obsession (free verse)

I am seized with ailing thoughts

as my synapses loop masochistic hindsight.

I drift in hazy dreams of If-Then……

Oh! Tether present day

to hopeful tomorrow

or I shall drift

into meaningless past

undone by its incomplete script

or tomorrow shall see today’s loss!

These layers on layers

of half written plays gather dust

and I cannot brush away the scattered pages.

Fragmented sentences and words unsaid

give weight to thoughts forever unanswered.

I glide through present day

untouched by feeling for fear

of feeling the pain of a life shattered

as it slowly circles the drain.

I must release this unchangeable past

or go mad from wasted hope.

Part of my obsession is an uncontrolled looping journey into the past.  If I am to overcome it I must break its’ hold over me.

Picture: psychology today

A Dance with Poetry



A Hormonal Surge of Intense Feeling

A Free-Flowing Concise Dance with Words

A Short Burst of Beauty-Sorrow-Drama or Humor

A Heady Metaphorical Mix of Incense, Perfume and Poppies

A Literary High Calorie Delight….. to be Savored in Small Bites

A License for Ideas–Thoughts–Topics not Otherwise Well Received

A Tidal Flow that Inspires–Provokes–Symbolizes and Addicts the Reader


 It Evokes Maximum Feeling with Tightly Controlled Language

It Demands a More Precise Word;  a Better Turn of Phrase;  a Higher Degree of Feeling


Poetry is a Sinuous, Sensuous, Symbolic

journey through fine language

a peek into the poet’s soul


Poetry’s finished product rarely satisfies the poet

yet poetry’s creation calls to us

a succubis muse.


I decided to engage in Intro to Poetry series at wordpress and while this is not strictly alliterative I think it evokes the feeling of alliteration….but you decide!

Vermillion Love (Free Verse)

 My cracked lips stretch

to meet your rainbow smiles,

a dried rubber band,

unpliant and resistant

to the winsome curves

of your vermillion mouth.


My parched throat seizes

as your perfect lips tick upward,

and my name carpets your tongue,

joined as one to your breath,

as you graciously acknowledge

my insolvent existence.

My heart, woefully woven

with shards of broken experiences,

flutters to the thrum of your approach.

You pass by on that whisper of wind,

my name hanging in the air

as, snockered by your virility,

 I bow my head in pain….

Another piercing shard

 drives its way home.


To all the lost moments and all the heart piercing shards….

Stand (Free Verse)

when dirt and detritus mar your clean image
when storms rage and acid rain pits your pristine walls
when the weight of the world breaks through your surface

and allow the fullness of time to soften your edges
and allow your pilings to resist the forces of water
and allow the weight of weary travelers to rest on your back

so I can breach the chasm between Here and There
so I can peek over your side, safe from silent currents
so I can pretend we have conquered the natural elements

♦                                         ♦                                                   ♦

Poem #2 for Voices of Poetry and Prose Photo Prompt Mondays. Can you guess what it is? Go check her photo out! Then go to my other blog and see my OTHER poem! LOL, I had time on my hands today at the orthodontists’ office…..


Im falling into

a deep abyss,

blind blackness

smothering my air.

My hold loosens

on fairys’ golden thread,

my hands slipping

toward it’s visible end.

I release,

as burning pain

breaks my hold….

Free falling,

I cannot touch the sides

as I bullet

down the abyss

toward Misery’s black hole.

To slow downward spiral…

To grasp the golden rope…

To see glowing light….

To fly upward

with gossamer wings……

∞ π ∞

Sometimes I feel like I am free falling into a black hole…….

Picture: www.dailymail.co.uk