At last we can have our dance, alone
The smell of life is in the air
Your presence makes me feel young
Your flesh so inviting
A bit of pleasure
A bit of pain
Just one bite
Immortal
Dead
**
This was written for Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. This week there week a theme of Immortality was chosen by Merril D. Smith. I immediately thought of vampires. Didn’t you? ;) I wrote a nonet.
Note – I originally posted this for Sue Vincent‘s writephoto challenge almost exactly 3 years ago, on the 8th of March, 2018. With Sue unable to post new challenges, some of us have been bringing back some old ones to show our appreciation for her inspiration.
No color or chroma reaches my night-dead eye. The sun sets over the ruined cathedral. And there is me, awake again, hanging in the middle, with the ghosts of the past on one side and the shadows of the future on the other, dangling between history and destiny, on this arch of time.
The hollow, no longer hallow, walls stretch above me, the marble has been stripped away, revealing broken brick and rubble.
Entering through my secret door, I taste the evening, taste her, taste the world, the world of the everlasting Now.
I walk through the cathedral, once the place of long forgotten saints and archbishops, of king and peasant long turned to dust. I can still see their faces on the crumbling walls.
How the mighty have fallen, the holy rotted.
Continue reading
Soft noise behind me
The floorboards creak with her weight
My love has woken
Though dead for a thousand years
Scent of fresh blood revives her
***
lol, yes, I am a month early for Halloween, but I saw an older version of the picture and knew I had to use it! I did edit it a little more, but…
This was written for Colleen’s Weekly Poetry Challenge. This week was to use a specific form, which was tanka. I do write quite a few tankas.
I never liked garlic, and I certainly hated “garlic breath”.
The minute I walked into the tiny get-away cottage, I was overwhelmed by the garlic. Truthfully, the place reeked.
All of it went outside and I opened the windows wide to freshen the place. With just one whiff of dinner, I knew I was going to live on bread alone despite the hostess going on and on about immunity.
Late the next night I met the only local that didn’t have garlic breath. Divine.
Awake once again, my aversion to garlic is worse. And sunlight. I should have listened…
***
Word count = 100
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. This week’s prompt is here and uses a photo © Dale Rogerson. Read more or join in by following the InLinkz “linky“.
Photo by Sue Vincent
No color or chroma reaches my night-dead eye. The sun sets over the ruined cathedral. And there is me, awake again, hanging in the middle, with the ghosts of the past on one side and the shadows of the future on the other, dangling between history and destiny, on this arch of time.
The hollow, no longer hallow, walls stretch above me, the marble has been stripped away, revealing broken brick and rubble.
Entering through my secret door, I taste the evening, taste her, taste the world, the world of the everlasting Now.
I walk through the cathedral, once the place of long forgotten saints and archbishops, of king and peasant long turned to dust. I can still see their faces on the crumbling walls.
How the mighty have fallen, the holy rotted. Continue reading
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