Shades



 Cooler than an iceberg
 Hotter than the sun
 Legs that travel skywards
 Hair tied in a bun
 Shades removed so slowly
 Anticipation kills
 I can’t believe this angel’s
 Here of her free will
 My shades off to impress her
 So not to scare away
 As eyes meet under sunlight
 Our bodies play today

Drowning From the Inside



 
 I’m weeping,
 Not on the exterior
 Anywhere that can be validated,
 But in my heart.
 I feel the tears sloshing,
 Churning,
 Washing my soul with remorse.
 I have forgotten why,
 But the feelings won’t leave.
 I guess I’m drowning
 From the inside out,
 Perhaps, I’ll wash away?

Song of the North



 Do I hear it in the tinkling bells of the snowdrops?
 Do the snowflakes pattern musical notes in an effort to play their way home?
 Does the howling wolf beckon;
 The narwhal blow it’s mighty horn in herald;
 The orca sing to the drifting bergs,
 I do not know the answer, in truth?
 But, I hear their song, and feel the iron in my blood pull North.
 

Storm



 There’s a storm brewing,
 I feel it’s nearness.
 Wind catches in my lungs
 Chilling,
 A draught of something unpleasant
 Passing through my system;
 My veins;
 Blood;
 Marrow.
 For the storm is evil!
 It thinks to infiltrate,
 Be absorbed,
 Spread.
 But it shan’t catch me unawares,
 As I breathe out;
 Close my eyes;
 Trust,
 And think only of YOU.
 
 

In Voice: Hunter’s Moon

I got asked if I would try an In Voice-poem mix, so here it is. To those who requested it, I hope I haven’t let you down.
 
 



 “It’s called a Hunter’s Moon.”
 “And you’re the hunter, I suppose?”
 “Oh, no, my love, that would suggest me a predator when I am not.”
 “I see, so this isn’t your den?”
 “No, just my simple home.”
 “I like it.”
 “Thank you. I’ve never invited anybody into it before, especially not a lady.”
 “Ooh, lady, I like that.”
 “You are.”
 “Thanks. I like the decor, so gothic looking.”
 “It is Gothic.”
 “You say that with certainty.”
 “I say it because it is.”
 “Because everything is black?”
 “Because that was the style when I bought the place and chose the contents.”
 “From an antiques dealer, you mean.”
 “No, from the seller at the time.”
 “At the time!”
 “It’s probably easier to show you my bed chamber.”
 —
 “Where’s your bed?”
 “That is my bed.”
 “That is a coffin!”
 “And, I’ve slept in it for so long.”
 “But…!”
 “Shhh, hush now.”
 “But, you said you weren’t a hunter, a predator.”
 “To be a hunter one would need to hunt, and I do not. The salacious nature of this land’s population has not changed it appears. I have but to turn up and smile. That can hardly be called predation.”
 “This has got to be a joke, a sick joke!”
 “I never joke.”
 “But…”
 “Hush child. Why don’t you take another look at that moon whilst I prepare a drink.”
 “So, why are you walking me to the balcony?”
 “I’m preparing my drink.”
 —
 

 
 Beneath the light of a Hunter’s moon
 A girl did stray to vampire, swoon
 She gave herself, but not as thought
 Not for lust, as prey, so caught
 And there on balcony, gothic state
 Beneath the moon, she met her fate
 A crimson drink for vampire raised
 Who feasted in light of Hunter’s rays

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Evening Lace



 
 To see the world through a patchwork of lace
 Created in arboreal treetops and draped for me
 
 To dissipate lessening light through web of life
 Fingers splayed, verdant finery resplendent
 
 To compliment the setting sun in silhouette
 A touch of night to bid farewell to day
 
 This is the beauty I crave, absolute pleasure
 All caught in the moment of a casual glance

In Voice: The Pretty Reckless



 “Oi!”
 “!”
 “Take your bloody headphones off!”
 “What?”
 “Your headphones!”
 “Oops!”
 “Come inside, love.”
 “I like it out here it’s too hot to be inside, I’m dripping.”
 “But it’s getting windy!”
 “I like the wind, dries the sweat.”
 “You’re the only woman I know who actually likes to sweat.”
 “I better be!”
 “You know what I mean.”
 “Course I do.”
 “So?”
 “So, what?”
 “Are you coming inside?”
 “Nope.”
 “Hmm, like that is it?”
 “Yup.”
 “Anything I can do to convince you otherwise?”
 “I can’t think of anything!”
 “Well, I’ll put some music on myself then.”
 “You do that.”
 “I will.”
 “Then, we’re both happy.”
 “Will be in a moment.”
 “Oi!”
 “What!”
 “Turn that down, I can’t hear my own now!”
 “Make me.”
 “If I have to get off this chair, walk all the way over there, then peel my wet shirt off just to shut that racket up, you’re dead.”
 “Then, I must be a zombie, coz I ain’t turning this music down even for the cops.”
 “Right, you’re for it.”
 “Got you off the balcony though.”
 “Smart arse.”
 “Yup.”
 “Like to live dangerously, don’t you?”
 “I don’t know, you haven’t taken your top off. You’ve left me wondering why you suggested it?”
 “It would have been a last resort.”
 “For what?”
 “Convincing you to turn off your music, then I realised!”
 “Realised what?”
 “That you make me wanna die.”
 “What!”
 “The song, dummy.”
 “Funny you say that, coz I was feeling like the band.”
 “And how’s that?”
 “Pretty reckless.”
 “How reckless?”
 “Take off that wet shirt and I’ll show you.”
 “You only ever have one thing on your mind.”
 “I do when you’re sweating on that balcony.”
 “I’m not on that balcony.”
 “True, and you won’t be for a while yet.”
 “Good.”
 “Did you just agree!”
 “Yup, d’ya wanna know why.”
 “Why?”
 “Because I’m feeling pretty reckless, too.”
 

 
 (Image courtesy of jenifuru on deviantart.com)