Poetry - All

From darkness comes fine remembrances of times When silken threads hung desiring to entice And swollen ruby reds were heavenly gates. Once alabaster, in the dim light stretched out Now the dry papyrus of a map so arduously drawn With spidery wiggly lines in reds and purple blues Mapping out wanton warm summer delights Or discrete winter whispers exhaled leaflessly Or the heavy monsoon air of rat rani scented nights. Oh the dream, the fine lines of so many dreams. Yet even

A lean mean hawk of a man Pounding his big stick on the floor “Un, deux, trois, quatre” Till his demeaning voice withers the spirit Of his next anorexic victim, later left Distraught in the dressing room Sobbing in silence Her thin bony frame pulsating. I was grateful those dark piercing eyes never settled on me, But I always listened intently To every barbed comment My mind filtered out The harshness of his words And I learned the essence Of how a body is transformed