Poetry

From free verse to rhyme to strict poetic structures learned along the way – long or short…
~All Our Lives Are A Poetry~

Courage

‘Give me courage’, he said.
How do we receive courage?

Is it within us all the time and we find it when faced with our fears?
Is it grown stronger by more trials and are we only able to get more of it by experiencing more hardship, however we view hardships definition, so to face more of our fears?

We ask for courage to face fear, yet only facing it brings it about.

A child fallen, cries.
A child fallen thrice, smiles, lip quivering
Knowing – this too shall pass.

IW

 

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Her Summer

Not a murmured breeze rustled leaves on the great palm above her lasciviousness.
Air dank in tequila and orange on her breath, exhaled from the long deep glow on the end of her fag.

She motioned small circles above herself toward the sun scorching her not so baby soft skin; years of sun-beds and liposuction fold in small ringlets over the top of her stretched pink side tied, bikini bottom.

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ her lips mouth to the clear skies of siesta, and
glistening forms on sandy patches who won’t notice waves that don’t crash.

Her eyes glaze, and quiver, half shut in anticipation of what the heated hours ahead may deliver her alcohol soured blood.
She closes her mind to the images, in a shake of her head, and grips the side of the fluffy ‘Minnie Mouse’ towel with a significant sigh.

She sits, applies sunscreen (you know the fancy one that comes out in a fine misty spray?) too near her face, behind larger-than-average-sunglasses.
They, languid on white towels, crane
in her direction,
and resume satiated dormancy under colourful hats –
there is nothing much of interest to see.

She blinks the mirage from her eyes as the sting deepens,
burns through her flesh, her mind, into her heart.
And she closes them.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she gestures at the setting sun wrestling a sexy floral beach-cover-up over her hot body;
Tonight, as all nights, she will sleep in a fever.

IW