Is it Poetry?

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When death do us part

If I go first
don’t weep and reel
or let sorrow fill you.
Keep your tears.
But,
place my picture on the mantel,
remember summers in the sun,
and smile.
Though I won’t see it
it’s comforting to me now
to know you’ll remember me
with joy.

If you go first
I will not cry.
I’ll be dry and dusty.
Empty,
like a forgotten room
in winter.
I’ll keep your photograph
on the pillow
where your sleeping head should be,
and dream of when
we were young and smooth
and love was all we knew.

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Winter of Love

I am brittle and abandoned.
Like gilt leaves shed by the selfish tree.
Discarded.
As you wilfully discarded me.

I am damp and distraught.
Like wind whipping drizzle against cheeks.
Cold
As you were callous and cold to me

I am sombre and grey.
Like the sky’s heavy, battleship clouds.
Threatening
As you so grimly threatened me.

I am winter white.
Like first frost, static and beautiful.
Deadly.
As you were to me.

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An Ode to Models – from a more rounded lady!

Come on you thin things,
eat some pies,
get some blubber on those thighs.
Eat some chocolate.
Gain some pounds.
Make those boobies nice and round.
Get a spare tyre,
don’t be flat,
Boys don’t like their girls like that.

Make things wobble,
learn to twerk,
you can make that booty work.
Get some roses in those cheeks,
go and eat a bag of sweets
Be all jolly,
be all fat,
Boys prefer their girls like that!

I hope….

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Lost #1

Standing on this sun-soaked beach without you,
sea splashes mix with salty tears
that the gentle wind brushes from my cheek
My toes curl into the soft white sand
as they did whenever you caressed me.

Is it a mistake to return so soon,
whence the last strands of happiness lie?
I blight this place which you once graced,
laying lithe and golden on its shore,
out dazzling the sun with your luster.

Laughter from unknowing revellers offends me
and I fix my gaze to past horizons,
where my passion knew no end,
before this shroud of misery enveloped me,
In an echo of your pall.

Crisp white sheets filled with fragrant breezes
glide the distant yachts to quiet harbours
Safe from storms they’ll rest peacefully, like you.
Whilst I remain, marooned in turmoil.
At sea.
At loss.
Alone.

This poem was written in response to today’s challenge.cropped-class-seal_seal-class-of-september-20141

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The Book

Golden filigree font idly patterns the skin
that embraces the pages
as softly as a mother

Translucent, moon coloured, pages
littered with emotion.
And mystery.

Pliable, soft to the touch pages.
Turning silently, seducing
quiet contemplation

And oh, the end!  The end!
That final page,
that final turn,
triumphantly heralding
the sadness of a friendship finished.

 

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Some Day

Whenever a papery butterfly
alights on a sweet scented bloom,
a rainbow arcs over the desert,
and there’s a smile on the face of the moon.

When the tiger bee sips from the chalice
of a perfectly formed daffodil,
spring instantly turns into summer,
and the sea becomes perfectly still.

When the gentle dove glides over rivers
that mirror his wings like a twin,
the rattle of guns promptly ceases,
and real peace will surely begin.