Come in to live and die in my temple – April 3

 

Come in to live and die in my temple it is sacred, yet access has been granted to you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is not to be shared, but it is to be cherished by you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is made to be adored by you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is allowed for you to savor the welcoming warmth through it’s loving embrace of you

Come in to live and die in my temple it is made to accommodate your every slow careful and treasured entrance or fast hard and feral entrance

Come in to live and die in my temple it is to be worshipped at your leisure, but be thorough

Come in to live and die in my temple it is never to be left without making it shudder and sigh and taking all you have to give

Come in to live and die in my temple

 

Just a poem with a double meaning

Always Wanting One More – April 2

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more glance into your loving eyes.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more glimpse of your radiating love.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more kiss on the lips or forehead.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more nibble on my lobes or globes.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more caress with your soft sturdy hands on my cheek, my nape or hair

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more embrace with your powerful uplifting arms.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more kind encouraging word from your elegant mouth.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more gesture that your love is real.

One is never satisfied; always wanting one more, one more and always one more.

 

The prompt was to use the word ONE in poem.

Heartache Blues – April 1

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out. 

It can’t be forced; we either love each other enough to drop everything

Or we don’t and we each walk our own path without the other by their side.

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

On my mind these words keep circulating and reliving heartache.

Why must there be a struggle to be in each others presence. 

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

Golden days of remembrance resurface on the darkest of days making us blue.

Leaving us wishing we had siezed more sweet moments to survive these blues.

“Maybe, we can find a way to be together” reaches my ears, but my soul cries out.

My soul bemoans this heartache blues.

Knowing that the last time we loved each other was the last time.

The poetry prompt asked that a music genre be written in the title and then a poem written to follow suit. This time I chose the Blues.

3 Tanka poems

Tanka Poem – They have a 5-7-5-7-7 syllable count, per line. With no capital letters or punctuations only a dash may be used to signify a breath being taken or as part of the title. Tanka is one of the earliest of Japanese poetic forms.

hot, hazy, humid
summer days linger far
to long – masking my
soul’s cool seductive flow
autumn desires come soon

caress my soul now
let your mind entwine with mine
lest you leave me bare
the memory of thy embrace
remain on all my senses

kiss and mark my heart
with the love of all ages
keep me in your mind
as we journey through all
stages of separate life

Stolen Innocence

Stolen Innocence

What makes a human being take or steal from another?
Leaving a gaping black hole in another being.
Never to be fully whole again.

What right was granted to you?
To remove someone’s self worth?
How do you live with the memory of ruining another human being?

Or was that the ticket; you didn’t think of them as a human being?
Perhaps you weren’t taught to value life, dignity or to have self respect.
Two monsters is all I see.

You saw a weakness and attacked without mercy or consequence.
You made the choice about you and not them.
You momentarily took their dignity.
You took advantage of their unconsciousness.
You ripped into their body, mind, heart and soul.

How do you walk around as the cream of the crop?
Yes, your outer package is pretty to all who see you,
but inside you are the ugliest of beings.

Karma will get you lovely anyone who uses and abuses another being,
for their own pleasure experience or whatever else.
You want to justify yourself and say it was about love, but I’m sure you will meet your demise in just the same way or worst.

You thought you won something that night,
but in the end you will never be able to see any real beauty,
for you have violated yourself with the foulest of dung and have lost your worth as a human being.

To call you an animal would be an insult to those magnificent creatures,
for you are even lower than that.
If ever there was a face that matched a stolen innocence it would be you.

Roller Days

Where are my carefree loved filled roller days?

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Holding the bag or bucket that held the magic to straightening my kinky curly cinnamon brown locks.
Large round purple or magenta rollers depending on the length of my hair with long black or silver hair pins to secure them.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
My brother sits a few feet away watching tv or playing with his toy cars.
On occasion one would ‘slip’ away and park near me, so that I would send it sailing back to him hard and fast.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Wide tooth comb in her hand combing my hair into submission.
Then alternating to the fine tooth rattail comb to wrap my conditioned wet hair around each roller.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Getting tapped on the shoulder or neck to straighten up with either comb was not fun.
Wide tooth was thick and heavy, but the rattail with it’s needle like point was death.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Trying to play with my brother was a risk I took every time.
Hoping she would not notice me move or I would feel that almighty tug that would sit me up straighter than a flagpole.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
45 minutes of my life that I would never get back as I counted the 25-30 rollers being lined up like soldiers to do their job.
45 minutes that would lead to an hour and a half of high heat to dry and mold my ‘bad’ hair into silky ringlets or large soft curls.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Saturday, so that we could go out later in the evening to a family gathering or for church on Sunday followed by a family gathering.
Sunday, to look presentable for the school week, so as not to upset the nuns with my unruly mop for hair.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
Each time she made the extra effort to make me shine with my molded silky ribbon filled mane.
Never taking too much time for herself, but always looking well put together with less.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
I appreciate all that she did for me during those much simpler times and I miss it now.
Oh what I would give to have her run both her hands on my scalp and down my hair.

Every Saturday or Sunday depending on the event, I sat on the floor between the legs that gave me life.
To feel her love for me as she primped and prodded my hair; to showcase her hard work transformed into beautiful curls, braids or for it to softly swing down my back.
Now I either I do it or I pay someone to primp and prod my unruly crown, but it will never be the same as when mami did it for me.

Carefree, loved filled roller days are long gone, but they live on in my memory.

Fool

You are the shameless fool who tricked me.
You are the shameless fool who with your friend used and abused me.
You are the shameless fool who took what was not yours.

I was the foolish young girl who fell for your fake kindness.
I was the foolish young girl who listened to your pretty words afterwards.
I was the foolish young girl who trusted in your falsehood.

My foolishness with time became change and betterment.
My foolishness with time became growth and viability.
My foolishness with time became wisdom and forgiveness.

So, who is the gullible fool?
So, who is the shameless fool?
So, who is the invisible fool?

Fool, I’m a beautiful creation unlike you.
Fool, I’m a source of light unlike you
Fool, I’m a strong woman unlike you.