Thursday photo prompt: Entrance #writephoto

For visually challenged writers, the image shows the a green and rocky landscape, with a path leading up to a dark-mouthed cave

ENTRANCE

What secrets lie over the threshold

What echos in the dark and cold

Why do I now hesitate

Sealed forever my fate

Decided too late

No point to fight

Less chance flight

In to

Night.

This is part of Sue Vincent’s #writephoto.

Vampire Soul

Pixabay

Such a black soul 
Broken not whole
No redemption forthcoming
My lack of hope, quite stunning.
Deserted and abandoned, banished
My heart empty and famished
My lust for blood insatiable
On edge my nerves unstable.
The moon rises I crave a drink
I shall sate this thirst, no depths too low for me to sink.

.

Cinqku Drowning.

Drowning

Nothing left

To struggle for

Such a relief , escape

Freedom.

*********

A cinqku must always have 5 lines and a perfect seventeen-syllable count. The lines typically follow a 2,3,4,6,2 format. There is no title requirement on the second line. As for syntax and diction styles, it follows the free Tanka style originally. There are no metric requirements for a cinqku poem. Additionally, the final line must contain a cinquain or kireji turn for emphasis.

Ice Cold

Image found here.

All ties, torn and broken I carry my heart in a jar

I search for you, eyes downcast, I follow your scent from afar.

I told you I would do it, rip my heart out for you in a beat

I have cleaned it and pickled it and it is now ready for you to eat.

The wind blows through the forest ice cold it comes from the north.

I no longer feel it’s icy chill as half naked on my quest for you I set forth.

Life’s blood dripping from my wound, my eyes hold a dead glassy stare

My body aches for you my my soul screams out in pain,my hopes go nowhere.

The tiny, tight pleats on my dress reflect the meanness of your being

My bared breast a reminder of my love and nurturing

Free, unfettered there for you to suckle from, and hold

But you have cast me off unwanted abandoned to the cold.

**********

An old poem of mine, renamed and revamped from 2013.

Vicious little Worm.

There is a viscous little worm inside his head.

Nipping at his consciousness every waking moment.

He’s more bad tempered that a lion that’s not fed.

On self destruction he is bent.

He is sick of being used

Always wants to help, that’s great.

But just ends up feeling abused

When what he does, no one seems to appreciate.

She gets it in the ear

When he is asked to help

The outcome is something for her to fear

She is sick of the cards she has been dealt.

So what can be done

To rectify the situation

In her life there’s just no fun

It’s a case of gloom saturation.

In the end he pushes everyone away

He needs to feel his worth

That’s really her reason to stay

Of selfconfidence he has a dearth.

One-Liner Wednesday. 10/6/19

This is part of LindaGHill’s #1linerWeds

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.“
Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral’s Kiss (Merry Gentry, #5)

He is out in the garden.

He is out in the garden with the secateurs again

The flowers are looking nervous and praying for rain.

The airing cupboard is wearing a smile

He’s is busy elsewhere so it has peace for a while.

We need to eat, it must be time for dinner.

No but we have pie and custard, always a winner.

Who is this woman, what is her name

It is my sister I have told you again and again

The gentleman is nice but why is he here

He is my sister’s hubby my dear.

Oh!You are busy, too busy to call?

Yes I’m okay I just cope with it all.

Thing is I am tired and really stressed

I’m at the end of my tether but doing my best.

He is out in the garden with the secateurs again

The flowers are looking nervous and praying for rain.

I am so lonely, with no conversation

I need some company for self-preservation.

*********

I wrote this poem about Altzhimers after a telephone conversation with my sister this morning.

Drowning.

Drowning

Cold

Can’t breath

Lungs bursting

Pain exploding

Out of time and breath

Drowning I sink deeper

Darker ever the light recedes

I am trapped hopelessly in weeds

Held fast I silently breath my last

So sad, there’s nothing to flash before me.

A

Wasted

Pointless life

No one will miss

I leave not a mark

Unseen, unheard, undone

Wasted years lost on cold hearts

No songs for me, I was not free

Unloved, uncared for, useless, wasted

Lost from the beginning I could not see.

Trapped Soul

For years it fought against it’s tether

Yet the harder it fought the more it would wither.

It  caused itself so much pain,

Yearning for a freedom it never could gain.

Finally exhausted it decided one day

To no longer try to break away.

It decided that it should be what it should be.

So the soul stopped fighting, relaxed. Immediately it was set free.

Top picture from Pixabay, the second is mine .

Healer Willow Twirls

I wrote  this  little  ditty back in  2013. I was in a  bad place  ….it’s  so strange looking  back on  your  early  work. It obvious I  did not like myself very much  then.

Healer willow Twirls

 Whitewalls roll and swirl as willow heals

Will she ever escape from how it is, that others feel.

Lashes, slashes and wheals she hides them all from view

The stairwell whore  throws out swill she knows what to do.

http://fc07.deviantart.net/

Whitewalls  roll and swirl as willow heals

In the stairwell  the whore swills away her skills.

Wishing things better, never, never makes things so

willow is a healer, but she cannot heal willow

Whitewalls  roll and swirl as willow heals

Ills twirl  and swirl and woes beset the healer

Weeping  softly in the stairwell no one cares how the whore  feels

Sills  and trills the drowning healer willow the whore of the stairwell.