Blessed by a Greek Goddess
with powers beyond the norm
inducted into the proper ranks of Amazons
to her destiny she was sworn
donning her star spangled britches
a female legend was born
~
Written for the Trifextra weekend challenge: This weekend we’re having some fun with the prompt, some super-powered fun, that is. We’re asking you to write the origin story to the superhero of your choice in exactly 33 words.
(image credit: walkswithin.com)
The Daily Prompt got me again….POW, right in the kisser. Here’s what they want: National Poetry Writing Month is nearly at an end. To celebrate it, try your hand at some verse.
~
Air flows in circular patterns,
over the crushed brown grass.
Blades slowly stretch from the earth,
as Spring has finally come to pass.
Trees blossom and new life grows,
reaching from outstretched limbs.
Birds crest on upward drafts,
they are the promise of summer’s warm winds.
The chill of the night air recedes,
giving way to the heat of the sun.
Mother Nature has blessed us,
Her beauty is not to be outdone.
The canopy of stars hung precariously,
while the fire licked the air.
Frogs serenaded the romantic night,
as his hand ran gently through her hair.
She turned to face him in the moonlight,
her reflection held in his eyes.
Her portrait etched in a sea of deep blue,
encircled by sparks, like fireflies.
The night air hovered around them,
warming their skin with its trace.
His grasp on her skin was electric,
as his fingers outlined the curve of her face.
Her instinct was to move into his body,
and his reaction followed her lead.
She could feel the energy building,
his want, his desire, his need.
The beauty of the night was unequaled,
the passion they felt was intense.
The night slowly swallowed their surroundings
leaving passion to hang in suspense.
The blanket of darkness surrounded them
as the horizon fell out of sight.
His body became her protection
under the cover of the night.
~
This was written for Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday.
Spring wanted to escape the clutches of winter,
it was waiting for its turn.
Through the clouds, touching the trees,
the sun had started to burn.
The opaque blue of the February sky
embraced the ball of heat.
Branches stretched to feel its warmth,
longing for a chance to meet.
Buried under mountains of snow,
blades of grass strained under its weight.
Buds of lilacs hidden in their shrouds
longed to achieve their beautiful fate.
But winter in its fit of rage
took hold of the sky again.
Suicidal snowflakes fell
and cloaked where spring had been.
Mercury fell and icicles formed,
the promise of warmth was gone.
Spring would have to lay in wait
to sing its beautiful song.
(image courtesy of Google)
my words embrace me.
my words do not judge me from the outside.
my words speak volumes about who I am underneath.
my words define me in a way my speech never will.
my words convey an emotion that churns in the pit of my being.
my words will help you see who I truly am without the facade that I present.
my words are me.
my words allow me to speak with no sound.
my words allow me to feel with no pain.
my words are who I am and not who I pretend to be.
my words come from my soul and not from my mind.
my words drip with my emotion.
my words are rich with imagery.
my words are me.
my words bring me to a place of comfort.
my words help me find understanding.
my words draw characters in my imagination.
my words make those characters breathe life.
my words implore me to continue my journey.
my words free my creativity.
my words are me.
Another post for Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday
he covers me like a blanket
he wraps around my heart
as much as I pull and stretch his fabric
it never falls apart
he drapes over my shoulders
shielding me with his presence
warming every part of my being
comforting me with his essence
I fall into his softness
I feel safety in his shroud
I feel the heat beginning to burn
my murmurs breathed aloud
his touch rubs gently on my skin
every time is like the first
his voice falls like music on my ears
his groan a staccato burst
we lay together, wrapped again
his arms provide the veil
keeping me warm, keeping me safe
his blanket will never fail
Edward Hotspur’s Romantic Monday always seems to bring out the poet in me.
The heat of his touch sent shivers as he traced the curve of her spine.
The lasting sensation of the tingling desire, never would leave her mind.
The softness of his lips on hers, the warm sweet smell of his breath,
the longing look in his deep blue eyes, the sensual feel of his caress.
He moves with her in a rhythm like the waves upon the sea,
seeming to be one, and yet, what one can never be.
He explores her soul, for which it seems, is paired with his alone,
on a journey of erotic pleasures, to a destination unknown.
The intensity of his closeness, the gentle stroking of her skin,
she feels an energy like never before, releasing from within.
She is his tonight and his alone, for now, for tomorrow, for time.
The love they make, the tenderness they share, will forever be their bind.
As the sun awakens to extinguish the dark, she clings to the memory of the night,
the feeling of togetherness, the feelings they share, the feeling of being so right.
He is a part of her now, a piece of her heart, beating in time with her own,
he is the wind in her hair, the sun on her skin, her music of beautiful tone.
Never will she feel alone for he is living inside of her heart.
His gentle touch, his wink, his smile reassure her they never will part.
A poem written for Romantic Monday ~ thank you again, EH, for the inspiration.
As dusk envelops the clear blue sky, and stars begin to shine,
The pale moon glow and the black of night, give heed to the ebb of time.
A sense of urgency, a passionate kiss, lead inhibitions to take flight,
Our eyes are locked, I’m in your arms and I’m eager to spend the night.
The lights grow dim, the air is electric, you take me by the hand,
Without a word I follow, mind and body understand.
My heart beats rapidly as I begin to feel your hot breath close to my ear,
My legs weaken, I fall to the bed, I draw you to be near.
Bodies intertwine under a blanket of heat and the dusk gives way to dark,
Passion churns and hunger flames, causing energies to spark.
The sense of desire, the animal need, the cries of pleasure and pain,
The intensity ends, we lay spent, I’m cloaked in your arms once again.
As I fall into sleep full of dreams and desire, I feel you close to my skin,
Your breathing is heavy, your mind is at rest, and a contented feeling is within.
The night quickly passes to the breaking of dawn and together we welcome the day,
I awake in your arms, to the warmth of your kiss, and it’s there I want to stay.
A poem for Romantic Monday. Thank you again Edward Hotspur for encouraging us to channel the romantic in all of us.
Under a Blue Moon
I fit my frail hand into his as we gazed upon the moon,
the beauty of its reflection, comforting like a warm wind in June.
As the pale moon light enveloped us, we stood as one, unmoving,
engaging in a silent vow of love that would never need proving.
The stars returned our glances, embracing a life of their own,
smiling upon us as a distant loon lent music of eloquent tone.
A blend of harmonious voices, echoed the cry of the loon,
as we stood fixed, ever enchanted by the intensity of the moon.
The night air swirled around us, laughing as it tickled the leaves.
The song of the frogs was found in the night and carried upon the breeze.
The rippling of the playful waves as their longing to touch the shore,
gave voices to the rhythm of sounds, sharing a tranquil rapport.
The magical songs in the blue moon light quieted ever so slightly,
as the glow of the moon and the array of stars ceased to shine so brightly.
His grip on my hand remained tender and sweet as he turned to look in my eyes.
A night of feelings shared by lovers under a blue moon and starry skies.
Today’s Daily Prompt is – Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?
There are always teacher’s that will stand out in my mind for various reasons. My Grade 9 Geography teacher spoke in such a monotone voice, I almost failed the class because I could not train my mind to pay attention. But the one teacher that will always stand out as the person who helped to create the person I am today is my Grade 6 teacher, Mr. Stimson. He truly loved his students and it showed in his teaching. His lessons were not all taught in the classroom and did not entirely come from a syllabus.
We learned to be respectful, we learned how to survive outdoors during his Wednesday cookouts and we learned how to be decent human beings. We learned that learning was fun. His class was our first real introduction to creative writing and I never looked back. Several years ago, after a very lengthy teaching career, he retired. I know many people of all ages who had the pleasure of being in his class and every single one of them refer to him as their favorite teacher. Upon his retirement, I wrote this poem for him. Thanks Mr. S!!
Words of Inspiration
He stood at the front of the classroom, a smile upon his lips,
A comical expression on his merry face, hands upon his hips.
He led us through his rhyming lesson, many not paying attention,
But something he said piqued my interest and I delved into a creation.
A whirlwind of thoughts flew through my mind, eager to be set free.
Nobody knew before this moment, that there lurked a poet in me.
Words and phrases I’d never known, spoke music in my ear,
Expressing my feelings in a rhyming prose, and this I did not fear.
He encouraged us to be individuals, to learn, to absorb, to think,
And when we achieved these remarkable heights, he’d always be “tickled pink”.
He is the epitome of teachers, a leader to some and a friend in many ways,
And for his attention and encouragement, I wish to give him praise.
His words of inspiration, helped me to reach inside my heart,
To find out what I hold inside, that tells me and others apart.
I have a special gift, a creative flair, that is very much my own,
But without his help, his caring words, it’s something I’d never have known.
polysyllabic profundities 