Monday 11 June 2012

Earth Man: Genesis

Still Life, 1670, detail by
Jean Francoisde La Motte

Willow weeps her tears of sadness,
they bitter with the pain of parting
burn hot and deep driving her to lonely madness,
course, rage through her very vessels,
sear and burn her broken heart.

In yonder forest he earth emerges,
flesh made of mud,
cold heart rough hewn from stones,
precipitation is his lifeblood,
twigs and branches make up his bones.

Willow cannot cope with his rejection
and deeply wrought in her dejection
rips out his letter affixed to door by nail and band
and reads the words of her amour.

His heart is made of stone,
yet devoid of all emotion
he does not wish to be alone,
will seek out the lonely in their shadows,
needs to make their beating heart his own.

She reads his words in lonely anguish,
tears splash down and blur, stain his missive,
she yearns for his love, his smile, his kiss, if
only he would return again…

Trembled the stars
that devilish night the earth man sought her,
(he would steal her heart as he slyly court her);
fashioning his face to that of her amour,
he gently taps upon her door.

She sees him, heart dances to her head,
his lips brush hers (she tastes the strangeness)
as he lifts her up, takes her to her bed. 
(Uncertain of his new persona
she mentions not the change less
he again should leave her…)

Noticing her reserve he does deceive her,
bluffs his way into her heart,
says that his leaving let him grieving
and he knows they now should never part.

Her flesh did crawl as she let him love her
as in her heart she knew he was another –
but ‘twas too late as he now did own her…

Stepping into the night
lit bright by moon and its corona,
stars trembled as she walked cold beside him,
knowing that her heart did beat inside him,
fate sealed in that first earthy kiss,
evolving earth man genesis…

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at The Mag for the inspiration and also brenda w at The Sunday Whirl (wordle 60) for her inspiration too!

Wednesday 6 June 2012

Old Age Cometh

Old Man, Cockroach
It has come.

It has played with me,
led me to believe,
nay be certain
(that maybe through
some past good deed)
I had escaped its wrath.

It has come. 
Mapped me out,
history etched
in every line and furrow. 
It plays with me
slows me down,
mocks me
with its laughter lines.

It has come. 
I will bear its tired skin,
its aching limbs,
its tired bones. 
I will relent,
give in graciously,
but beg it earnestly,
please, please, please,

leave my mind alone.

Anna :o]

(I wrote this after discovering the beginnings of crows feet on Saturday night...)

Entered at Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub – thanks dVerse!
Entered at The Poetry Pantry at Poets United - thanks Poets United

Image used with the kind permission of the Cockroach Catcher at flickr.  (The Cockroach Catcher Blog can be found here.)