Kiss

If I could drink, gloriously, of the moon,
she would, I think, intoxicate me thus.


A tiny little couplet for yeah write.

Rebel Alliance

When I was a kid, I was a rebel. So was my best friend John.

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Mistress

My lover leaves her name outside my door
when evening gives us leisure to explore
the sounds between the silences, the stark
divide, the interplay of light and dark,
each night more daring than the night before.

And when I cannot tally anymore
the whispered count, the reckoning of scores,
I catalogue each kiss and every mark
my lover leaves.

At last she fetches wine and bids me pour;
she offers me her cup: one sip, no more.
And having kindled flame from love’s last spark
before the jaded warning of the lark,
my sheets like moonlight cast upon the floor,
my lover leaves.


I’m catching up on unfinished projects. This is a rondeau, which was the subject of yeah write’s May 2016 poetry slam.

Thunderbolt

It hits me sometimes, out of the blue,
that even the sky catches fire
sometimes, that even these hills
are not immune to change.
The skip of a stone,
a rippled pool;
the beauty
that is
you.


This week’s submission brought to you by the yeah write poetry slam, where I learned all about nonets.

Piracy

Between this stolen ship and home
a promise made (a broken vow)
was written in the rolling foam.
Between this stolen ship and home
a breach too wide to cross has grown.
I toss a ring across the bow
between this stolen ship and home:
a promise, made a broken vow.