Tell the stars of his name

above the india-inked sky
pinpricks of light tremble
as he takes his wordless fall
while the gods play on filthy floors
one last call…
one last plead…
for any kind of recognition
hear his sorrow, feel his pain
tell the stars of his name

Image from Unsplash

---

In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: A Star (Poem) is Born hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, who asks us to use some form of the word STAR and incorporate it in a 44-word poem.

Today, I’ve decided to honor Charles Dickens, one of the greatest novelist of the Victorian era, who was born on this day in 1812. This piece was inspired by a quote from his book, Great Expectations.

“I looked at the stars, and considered how awful it would be for a man to turn his face up to them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the glittering multitude.”

Click here to join the prompt!

Demeter’s Vow

i shall take everything away
from the bystanders and witnesses
who saw a god turned into a bull
and another into a stallion;
them who boldly turned a blind eye
on that midnight sacrilege,
pick a god—pray
for i will leave naught behind

Image from Unsplash

---

In response to dVerse’s Quadrille: BOLD-ly Go hosted by De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, who asks us to use some form of the word BOLD and incorporate it in a 44-word poem.

Lately, my curiosities led me to delve into the life of Demeter—particularly her divine lovers. Zeus, the king of the gods, violated her in the form of a bull. Poseidon, the god of the sea, raped her in the form of a stallion. While I know incest is at the center of Greek mythology, here’s my “other side” of the story. Demeter, in her full wrath, decides to exact revenge.

Click here to join the prompt!

A wager with fate

one day she will get through these dystopian days
look at the mirror and see blue irises growing
from her painted bruise
she will take fortune out of misery—
make a wager with fate;
there’ll be no more sad mornings
or skeptical days

peace will propel this crepuscular creature
who no longer breathes
between alternate universes
and thousand ironies
this will be her renovation—
rebirth to the nth degree.

Image from Unsplash

---

Written for MLMM’s Wordle #304. Picked 10 out of 12 words and came up with this little Monday motivation.

Click here to join the prompt!

The night has me by the neck

the night has me by the neck
its claws tightening around my throat
i ache
i heave
i choke

i am once again Calypso failing to tame the mighty hero
he laughs — smiles like i was never there
not even for seven seconds,
seven minutes
or seven years

is it madness to still think
that love is not lost?

the night has me by the neck
as tears befall the sorry sheets

Image from Unsplash

---

In response to dVerse’s Poetics: Are you listening? hosted by Merril who asks us to incorporate at least two of the podcast titles below into a poem.

Articles of Interest: American Ivy
I Was Never There
Legacy of Speed
Not Lost
Pivot
Reveal: After Ayotzinapa
Rumble Strip
Serial
This American Life
Ghost in the Burbs

It’s been a while since I last joined the prompts here. Looking forward to fun reading and catching up. 😁

Click here to join the prompt!

A reminder after each fall

time may be a heinous thief
this blood-washed land is filled with greed
if mornings are without the song of birds
and men and pigs march in herd

begin again—

like the sun behind a thin cloud
reappearing, warming them
or the blue sea breathing in and out
along the pebbled verge

begin again—

like the green-cloaked trees after Odette
drenched in fresh, comforting warmth
or the butterflies and their dusted wings
dancing to the yellow sun

so long as there are seven of the same moon
and love roars and purrs with the same passion
until happiness leaks out of your very soul
begin again after each fall

---

Today, I woke up to a notification from WordPress celebrating my seventh anniversary of blogging. I would not call the last three years “good blogging” as I have been in and out of WP most of the time. But I will forever be grateful for this very day when a naïve girl decided to pour her heart out through words for the first time.

May she find her way back to poetry one day…

slowly yet surely.

Vignette: Make-believes

I want to ask you to leave. To desert this open field that I am in before the flowers grow and wilt. But I can’t. I choose not to. Because deep within the chambers of this heart, a part of me begs for you to stay.
I want to believe that ours is like the coffee – bittersweet. That we can laugh and scream at each other but we will always end up cuddling under the night sky. You, tracing the stars. I, smiling at the moon.
I want to believe that we can sing our differences away and find common ground in love. That we can dance, barefoot, amid the prickly grass. My head on your shoulder, your arms round my waist.

I want to believe. I want to. I want.

six one eight

i have watched too many sunsets in silence
silhouettes intensify against a blue-and-ocher sky
to this day, i still look for you in its changing color
my palms still grasp for the galaxy of dust suspended in the air

i call for the gods whose names taste strange in my mouth
my throat still refuses to abandon all yearning
would the heavens know of ways to letting you go?
tell me, how long do heartbreaks last?

out there, a child laughs,
a dog barks, and every lamp post in the streets is lit
august slips away in slow motion, and here i am
trying to write a good story before the dusk collects past’s due

what would the universe take this time?
for i only have this poem to offer or my life.

Lament of the Dead

I have always known I’d die this way—
Hands reaching for what’s left of the sunset
Wilted and dried
Like a sunburnt flower left in a barren land

Sadness almost feels like a second skin now
Purple bruises scatter from unbidden words
They pierce, they hurt
Reminding me of the borrowed prose I never get to return to the world

They say our entire life flashes before our eyes on our deathbed
But I saw a person instead—
Dimples and heavy brows,
A portrait of the carefree man I met at Bo’s

Something pokes from inside my darkened rib
Was it regret? Guilt? Or something else?
More, more
I need more time, Charon

Let me immortalize this man with words
Soak my pen in desperation, desire and dread
I have always known I’d die this way—
But why must it have to be today?

My hands reach for the last of the sunset
I cry for borrowed prose I never get to return to the world

Psalm 143:6

I dream in fast forward
Of that which never was
My pale, moon-drenched skin
Shiver ‘neath the grieving stars

I wait in quiet desperation
Feeling nothing of the real world
Seeing only that which
I have not yet held

Between midnight breaths — a poem
Reviving my half dead hope
I spread out my hands to you;
I thirst for you like a parched land.