Snow White

There was no snow,
she was not white,
but pink and freckled
too, and careless with

the needle, and lax
with apples, although
she knew that there
was danger, and lied

to herself because,
she did not want to
know the truth - so
then, her cause was

lost and fantasy did
have the day, and
night and mind and
heart; just dabbles

in reality, where she
did play a part in making
up the stories that we
would learn by heart.


II.

Snow which crimps
with blackened edge,
denying white and
mocking life....








http://redwolfpoems.wordpress.com/2014/11/26/prompt-226-text-subtext-hypertext/

Hurts

Suspicion gathered wearily,
in wary hidden qualms,
distrust was settled queasily;
too many broken parts.

Hopeful moments scattered,
like chaff upon the ground,
each gesture had been mocked;
bitten by hate's hound.

Heart had offered fulsomely,
with grace and inner calm,
tolerant, compassionate;
huddled in grief's palm.

There was no new returning,
the blows had struck too hard,
doubt continued yearning;
trust had no more cards.








Distrust,

Hopeful,

Tolerant,

 

http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2014/11/3ww-week-no-403.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThreeWordWednesday+%28Three+Word+Wednesday.%29

 

Every song must end

Sad spirit slowly dying,
in void of raw, dark grit,
the Bodhisattva crying;
reflected, pulsing grief.

Every song must end,
each note at last to stop,
music slowly wends;
nails define the cross.

Parasites were rising,
at dusk deceiving all,
legerdemain surprising;
hope does faintly call.

http://redwolfpoems.wordpress.com/2014/11/20/we-wordle-31/







grit – Debi Swim (poem 1)
spirit – Debi Swim (poem 2)
dying – JulesPaige
parasites – kaykuala h
void – Misky
raw – Hannah Gosselin
legerdemain – Barbara
Bodhisattva – Irene (poem 1)
reflected – Purple in Portland
pulsing – Irene (poem 2)
dusk – Baste

Fiery thoughts

Fiery thoughts attenuate,
notorious in sense,
diminish love's true power;
such toxic recompense.


http://www.threewordwednesday.com/2014/11/3ww-week-no-402.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+ThreeWordWednesday+%28Three+Word+Wednesday.%29



Fiery, adjective: Consisting of fire or burning strongly and brightly, [ s submodifier] figurative: a fiery hot chili sauce; having the bright color of fire; (of a person) having a passionate, quick-tempered nature; (of behavior or words) passionately angry and deeply felt.

Notorious, adjective: Famous or well known, typically for some bad quality or deed.

Toxic, adjective: Poisonous; relating to or caused by poison; very bad, unpleasant, or harmful; finance denoting or relating to debt that has a high risk of default; denoting securities that are based on toxic debt and for which there is not a healthy or functioning market.

Mud of soul

Owl did sit in silence,
rose the shine of night,
birds in chorus fervour;
thread of inner sight.

Crossroads of the psyche,
mud of Self crushed deep,
thorns of grief revealing;
called to darkest sleep.

Crocus pushed damp bud,
struggled to be born,
life did end in suicide;
Soul at last was torn.

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/11/09/wordle-186/


 

adaequatio

Is it possible to adjust to your loss,
to adapt to a life without your
presence, as if the absence of you
could ever be brought to any kind

of balance, which could equal that
place, where you were a part of my
life, and when there was no hollow,
echoed place of sorrow, no sense of

an eternal grieving, as if my heart
had been made empty, in a instant,
so that it could toll relentlessly in
helpless raging and keening at

the void within, which still kept
slowly breathing, in waiting for
the moment of your return, when
mind could nod slowly and accept

that yet again, adaequatio existed?




 

The letter

Your letter did elaborate,
fired with new demands,
surrendered to the fireplace;
black and slack it burns.

Your cruelty did perforate,
my hopes and heart besides,
true love you did exasperate;
can't tolerate your lies.

Candle gutters shallow,
silver wine jug gleams,
passion does incinerate;
destroys eternal dreams.

http://redwolfpoems.wordpress.com/2014/11/06/we-wordle-30/


 

 

Loss

News did sadly devastate,
hope in plummet down,
grief's gossamer embracing;
a loss so deep, profound.



http://www.threewordwednesday.com/







 

Dead

Walk in worlds that we don't see,
sing the songs we cannot hear,
dance the steps for us unknown;
so the dead are yet so near.

Laughing still they are nearby,
hidden though and disappeared,
sight unseen but sometimes felt;
joy resounds as we do fear.

Wandering through other realms,
living there as we do here,
travellers beyond this world;
life at last without a care.

Colours burst in different ways,
music soars beyond our ears,
mountains, fields and forests too;
no longer any need for tears.

The dead can see us living still,
within this place which we call real,
and yet which is less real than there;
in death, at last, we truly feel.

II.

There is death in life where the heart still beats,
and yet we walk as if dead, entombed in flesh,
which can no longer feel; trapped in mind which
can no longer think; held in moments of pain as

if the hurling, hurting seas would drown us at any
moment - but they do not, even as we wish they
would, to put an end to this existence where grey
time plods, dark days stack, one upon another and

bright nights bleed bitter fruits from dream-trees
which send down powerful roots into the soul,
and throw up, brittle branches which are dead
to being and bring stark, acid blossoms for a

becoming which can never be, because now I
walk and breathe and eat and sleep as a living
corpse, the flesh desiccating, the limbs stiffening,
the eyes dulled, in a closing of consciousness

that desires only the bony touch which can
bring an end to it all; a passing from what is,
into what has always been and what will be,
where laughter sounds the rhythm of heart

and where pain which passeth all understanding
is no more, but is caressed and comforted by
a peace which has been denied for so long and
which whispers at the door of the stony tomb.










http://dversepoets.com/2014/11/04/poetics-the-book-of-dead-man/

Jaded

The rain was cold and jaded,
reflective of my mood,
that spark of joy not satisfied;
grey the sun did burn.

There was no way of standing,
which kept me truly dry,
and so we wept in unison;
nothing brought a smile.

There was in chilled ablution,
a cleansing of the soul,
washing through of misery;
the heavens made me whole.

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/11/02/wordle-185/