Belief Becomes a Shadow

Melancholy bleaches from her the mood
for decadence; simple thoughts heighten her
senses, make her aware of the wonder
involved in life. Spirits lift, she reaches
for the “last éclair in the box” – sometimes
the only choice you can make is promised
to you by a man only imagined
in the dreams you share with no one else – save
the actor portraying Jesus on screen
.
He is no holy ghost, no messiah.

No sweets can replace the losses endured;
(pastry is poor substitute for passion.)
Belief becomes a shadow in her smile;
sadness the hard shell she longs to break through.

Siobhan
06-30-2010


The ten words in bold face within the body of the poem are the ten words posed in the challenge. The challenge being to write a poem incorporating the ten words…

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An End that Was Not
 
Coming full circle to this day added
grey to her hair, stripped the youth from her eyes,
and brought her closer to herself. The prayers,
pleadings, silent promises find their voice
in written words, in poetry she needs
to release, plastering emotion on
virtual billboards so she can see it.
 
Moving from room to room, she imagines
possibilities – remembers what was.
Warmth infused walls, changes in hue and tone,
make the space more livable. Less haunting
than it was a year ago when it was
emptied of passion without a whisper
of goodbye; an end that was not an end.
 
 
Siobhan
12/31/09


Remain in the Moments

She cannot remain in all the moments
of yesterday, craving as she does, warmth
in today. She knows her tomorrow is
just a blink beyond her sight, patiently
biding time until her mind clears of thought
and she merely feels her way into it.

Stars hidden behind clouds once bleak and cold,
an omen of pain unending, break free.
She greets the morning as they fade away;
promises of future clarity shine
in their shadows as the sun takes over
the sky. Streaks of red and gold in azure
highlight the possibilities ahead –
she wakes, finds love stirring inside again.

Siobhan
12-26-09


She Prays for the Rain

She prays for the rain – thunderclouds gathered
above murmur promises of passion,
the clash between forces she cannot see;
her life captured in Mother Nature’s eye.

Electricity shimmers along the
horizon, dances between ground and cloud
threatens to wash away her pain – sorrow
if she can withstand the downpour this time.

Silver grey bleeds into the blue beyond
the edges; she welcomes the brush of wind
across her face, a breeze full of promise
tangles in her hair – catches her off guard.

She prays for the rain – with desire born
of want and need and love and loneliness.

© Siobhan
04-27-09


 

No Reply Necessary

I write words as if I am waiting

for a response –

they disappear in the ether

the words mine alone,
no reply necessary.

I whisper into the darkness
hear an echo of what might have been.

I stroke flesh as if I am waiting

for a response –

it’s the sensations lost

that I am missing the most,
no answering caress.

I reach out into the night
feel the emptiness surrounding me
– know it is my own touch
– know it is my own voice

understand, no reply necessary.

Siobhan
01-22-09


October Dreams

Spring explodes before her eyes; in a blink
it will vanish into the heat of summer.
She reaches quickly for the release – new
life
– welcomes its fresh scent, the energy
to erase away the bleakness of months
trapped inside winter’s clutches, the dreary
greys of cold, endured for this one moment.

She knows she’ll wilt in the heat of summer;
even as she glories in the sunshine
kissing blue skies with white clouds and nighttime
with lightning and thunder that raise passions
rare within the long winter and brief spring –
save for blizzards and those April showers.

She stores her desires for October.

Autumn provides fireworks of color,
paints her longing in brilliant shades of red
and burnished gold. Releases pent up grief,
allows it to drift among the dying
crackle of leaves, scattered in smoke-filled air.
She comes alive with untold promises
whispering to her through the bared branches.

Deep down in a pile of leaves, she feels it –
the prick of dried life press against her back.
The chill of crisp air fills lungs long labored
with humidity left from August dog-days .
As winter approaches, she clings to this
moment, when her world is full of color,
prepares to sleep again and dream of love.

© Siobhan
04-19-09


Keeping My Balance

 

Stretching across, kneeling on the counter,

I work the screws loose with one hand while the

other holds tenaciously to the light

fixture.  I’m changing more than the light bulb –

it’s a suitable metaphor of this

life I’m living.  It may not be as bright,

however, just as my life has gone from

four to three – five to four counting the dog,

I no longer need a dozen bulbs to

light my path – as I have been cut in half,

so have the lights. The softer glow picks up

shadows, as have my eyes from sleepless nights.

 

Twisting new wires to old, I bind them,

tuck them away out of sight, out of mind;

all while keeping my balance, holding on

to the promises wrapped between this life

and my life before – essentially changed.

 

© Siobhan

2-7-09