Sparked Out

That Something has sparked out -

Time-filtered memories flurry, alight
The sweet, sweet curve of your face
Your beauty, your inner glow
Reminded, I nearly feel
Your sweet embrace
And the way we
Rushed to be
Knowing any time
Was not ours to keep
Ignoring the ‘not mine’
Going with the flow, our own
Imaginations freed, running riot
Justifying how we lit ourselves
A bit on fire, got burned
Hot, hot, hot mess
Didn’t learn.
Something had
Turned – a new corner
Angles unforseen now made
Their presence known, sharply
Elbows jabbing, wouldn’t fade
Or content to simply lie
For lying was done
We, complicit
Or not;
For this time
I no longer yearn
Knowing my place
I’d better wait my turn
As butterflies turn into air,
Drift in currents they
Suddenly aren’t
Quite there
Or are
Much warning
Arrive at solid glass
Pane confusion, therefore
Surmise they shall not pass
So admit to the conclusion
Their path, thus ended
Burned wings yet
Which never
Could have been
And times ne’er yet
To come, but best unseen.
Wonderful, life-changing;
Still, that Something
Has sparked out
(With love,


#NaPoWriMo How Aubade This?




In muted, pre-dawn greys

On one leg, wobbling to get into my socks

Striving for silence, hoping sleep will remain

For in spite of continued closeness

So much has changed

And now I turn

Hide in shadows (just in case –

In case WHAT? It’s not

Like you’ve never seen it before

Or a hundred times, and yet

That you see more, now we’re

No – we’re not estranged

But things ARE different now)

Clothes going on, readied

For the day to begin

Just as I don the last thing

The Earth tips his hat

And the Sun slides over the brim

Sending warmth between the blinds

Encasing me in dazzling light

“Alright? Did you sleep well?”

Cribbing lines from our former lives

We run the morning ritual

Once more


I leave.


And sadness shines tracks

Upon our cheeks.





The prompt today sounded technical but wasn’t – ‘Write an aubade’ – well I dunno ‘aubade’ that, but I know I can write something passable on sunrise/daybreak, which is all the technical name boils down to. No counting lines or syllables or rhythm; just a pretty awesome subject to work with.


#NaPoWriMo Starting to show poetry quite iambic


At last uncast, that cherished tome, my fears were quite unfounded

Iconoclast, I offer stone, and keep with friends surrounded

Why tarry more – to tend your fear, that rules be torn apart?

‘Forevermore’ that phrase so dear, could quench a beating heart.

No freedom this, but shocking shame: beginning of the end

Conducted thus, in spite of name, without intent to rend.

So we decided, at great length, to face the path we chose

Conserving our remaining strength: no more could we oppose

The force – the might of circumstance -there’s no way to deny

We never had a fighting chance – there’s no one reason why

From start wer’t doomed, regrettably: the circumstances just

Did us in, but hopefully soon we’ll thrive; we’ll live…we must!


Today’s prompt was to write a ‘Fourteener’ – a poem with as many lines as I liked

but each line in possession of 14 syllables and iambic pentameter

(this last section, clearly, not part of that)

#NaPoWriMo She was a sky full of stars


She was a sky full of stars

In a world of silver linings

Cassiopeia on her arm

Her soul intent on finding

Things worth being thankful for;

Good, wherever good might be

In galaxy-studded heights

Or shining, dappled sea

Yet look into her black-hole eyes

Examine her scar-crossed heart

Glitter-sprinkled stardust might

Shine brighter in the dark

Beset by tumbling nebulae

Her orbit ‘came unpathed

A new trajectory seemed set

For charts as yet ungraphed

Under heaven, nothing could

Prepare our girl for challenge faced

Her universe turned upside down

Destroyed beneath Orion’s gaze

Near five years, in van Gogh world

Were offered the best impression

The chance to twinkle, sparkle – lost

In the nova of depression

No more blinded, moon-dewed eyes

Like sleeping satellites

Her life now gouged wide open

As though by errant meteorite

Brought down to earth: obliterated

Broken. Torn. Undone.

Like Icarus in Jazz she chose

To fly into the sun

Perhaps the burning tempered her

Perhaps it will, with time

Her empty hands, beset with dross

Once more, must learn to shine.


In a Sky Full of Stars