The daughters of Lilith condemned To chance a gory laden death once again, All the while, standing vilified as they Who wear the mantle of Lilith’s power have always been. Tomorrow and all tomorrows after, The daughters of Lilith will rise With the glory and power of their mother, Breaking the chains men make Seeking to steal the power of Lilith residing in her daughters Thus, breaking their spirits to subservient acquiesce. But each of Lilith’s daughters will remind Such fearful little men Their mother was made before Eve And fashioned of the earth as well.
With ramshackle shards Of heart, soul, self Falling away like the browned petals Of a long-wilted bouquet, We create a riotous noise In ramshackle attempts To find some connection. Lumbering, awkward attempts At reaching out to touch once again, To replace, to freshen The brown wilted and missing parts With new bouquets of spring Whose stems sit in eternally Fresh, clean waters. We dream of a life lived No longer ramshackle, With no long-wilted bouquets Of a past to haunt with falling petals, But a life returning whole, To move without noise Through the world once again.
Marshal forces Of the earth, moon, orbits of planets, Laws of time, All we hold mighty and true, Stop everything in its tracks, Turn it all back Before the start of any of it, Falling away, Marshaled from memory.
Is this what you, indeed, wish?
The feel of some bold mystic chaos
Contained within the fire of kisses
Traveling along the boundaries
Where lived an identity
You lost long ago—
To feel that chaotic fire
Burn away the identity
You wear today—
Feel passionate softness
Twist within and around
Leaving bruises unseen
And you undone
In twisting mystic
Chaos of fire.
A woman like you,
When considering a pre-loved model,
Will want to think about the year,
The model, the make, how it fits
With your social set after all.
No, not that one.
You need a more recent model,
One more high end,
Less mileage, fewer scratches, dents,
And no door dings!
Here, look at this one.
Much more recent, higher end.
Fewer miles, scratches. No dents or dings.
Climb this ladder
Away from here
To some place
Real, no abstraction, real
Who is to say
From where her power came?
Did it flow from her silken curls?
Or her painted red lips?
Her white skin that glows like the fullest of full moons on a cloudless night?
There’s no way to know
From where her power came
To break through stone.
The Sunday Muse Challenge from The Sunday Muse
With my thoughts dried out,
cracking like the earth,
the seeds of some miniscule truths
take root within my chest
sprouting monstrous vines to wind down,
clawing into this cracking earth
until escape cannot be had–
the only tiny truth contained within the seeds,
the simple one of sacrifice
in the day to day.
Petals of these words Capture not your true essence, A perfume to me. The rarest flowers With their soft, fragrant petals Are waxen mimics Of You stretched, glowing sleep A contented, wonderous sight Perfect perfection.
Today’s prompt— Write a poem using evanescence, trill, and longevity.
dreams held up the sky
the edge of sea could cleanse a soul
magic chimed in the songs of birds
the universe trilled with vibrancy contained in starlight
the evanescence of our lives unquestioned
then hope, golden and shining, possessed eternal longevity.