Tag Archives: Love Story

Tree of Love: For Wordle 559

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Tree of Love

Your hair, tangled in the breeze, streams wickedly away
as though that breath that moves the clouds has you in its sway.
The seeds of love that you have sown grow  branches that deceive,
for as I try to climb them, they offer no reprieve.

The song you cast upon the wind is no boon to me,
for as I climb ever higher in affection’s tree,
the effort steals my breath away and in my lovelorn greed,
both hands and heart are pierced by love and begin to bleed.

That mouth that bestowed kisses earlier on the heath,
as you turn to chart my progress, has suddenly grown teeth,
and as I recall your kisses, no matter how sublime,
I decide that their rewards are, alas, not worth the climb.


For The Sunday Swirl Wordle 559 the prompt words are: tangle breeze stream clouds sway reprieve teeth bleed seeds climb branches boon. First image by Adrian Fernandez on Unsplash. Second image by me.

Sargasso Sea: Wordle 547

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Sargasso Sea

Your fingertips trace patterns on my open palms,
moons on my forearms, stars on my shoulders.
You void the aches and tensions of a stressful day,
unconsciously skim over borders where no lesser traveler
would be allowed to go. Remote places become your territory.

Strong lines develop where you’ve lightly traced.
The Captain Cook of seduction,
you have skirted my boundaries, charted my seas.
Now my waters part before you and welcome you in—
complicit prisoner of my Sargasso Sea.

 

 

The Sunday Whirl Wordle prompts today are: remote unconsciously cook tracing moon patterns strong star void over fingertips lines, Photos by Birmingham Muse and Nick Moore on Unsplash.

Tryst

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Tryst

The smell of his aftershave, his looks and wit,
the chemistry, passion, charisma and fit
of her putative lover had gained such renown
that his legend was spoken all over the town.

Through her bedroom window he climbed after dark
as she stilled her dad’s dogs–their bite and their bark.
With scraps of her dinner she lured them away
as her lover sneaked into the bedroom where they

would make love to the music that swelled on the breeze
of her imagination, there on her knees
playing out that wild scene in her hopes and her dreams,
through want of reality, stretched to extremes.

No passion, no music, no lover’s embrace,
her only caresses, the moon on her face
as it slowly rises, extending its beams,
and creeps through the window to enter her dreams.

Prompts today are the bedroom window, music, wit, putative and smell.

This Dress: The Sunday Whirl, Wordle #511

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This Dress

This dress, stuffed in a corner of an old trunk,
sparks memories, rekindling magic.
From far in the future, I feel the past
rising to join me. It heats the cold air of the attic
and the skies outside the window clear of clouds.

A warm spring afternoon on a blanket in the park,
the outing I thought spontaneous
crowned with the offer of a ring.
Spilling the wine, falling sideways into the three-tiered coconut cake,
rising as one, laughing—a freshly engaged couple.

Licking the frosting off your arm. Your licking the frosting off my neck.
Symbiotic in new plans for our continuance into the future—
into the length of our lives.
That dress. A bit of frosting still on the collar.
You, so many years after, still blooming in my memory.

 

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle # 511 the prompt words are rekindle, dress, far, future, magic, ring, rising, sky, heats, spontaneous legendary sparks. Image by Kate Hizlitznova on Unsplash.

Love Story

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Love—the only drug I need.

For the Saturday Six Word Story Prompt: Drug

Gleaning

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Gleaning

His precipitous departure and subsequent defection
belied earlier avowals of his most sincere affection.
As usual, his action in doing so was heartless—
his cruel revelation of his apathy most artless.

The opposite of nuance, he was blatant to the bone
as he crassly left her weeping to hit the road alone.
Doing her a favor, for he left the door ajar
for another suitor who had loved her from afar

from the time that they were children, but who had never spoken
who now seized this opportunity by handing her a token
that all of his affection he hoped he might expose:
a declaration of his love— single long-stemmed rose.

Carefully, he’d trimmed each  thorn, then ringed the single stem
with his mother’s engagement ring—a brilliant diamond gem. 
And so her recent heartbreak of being the one left
gave way to an elation so she felt much less bereft.

For unbeknownst to him, she had always felt the same,
although she had not shown it, for she feared the shame
of unrequited love if she had revealed how she felt,
but when she saw his token, her heart began to melt. 

And so they were soon married and the day their son was born,
her former love crested the hill, tattered and forlorn
to try to win the love back that he’d cast away so breezily,
only to find abandoned love was not won back so easily.

We learn from all life’s errors, both our own and those of others,
so I want to share this wisdom with my sisters and my brothers.
The moral of the story is be careful what you toss,
for a more farsighted lover may glean profit from your loss.


Prompt words today are nuance, subsequent, revealing, precipitous and heartless.

Glean: to gather leftover grain or other produce after a harvest.

 

Gross Yield

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Gross Yield

Hardly a paradisiac setting, he met her at the dumpster.
She was a free spirit and, alas, he was a Trumpster.
He thought that she looked nifty in spite of her dreadlocks.
She thought he was her nemesis. Just look! Argyle socks!!!!
He lifted up the lid so she could throw in all her junk.
She didn’t pay attention. She liked her lovers punk.

But he wooed her every garbage day. A regular Lochinvar,
he insisted she not lift the bags, declaring it too far
from her doorway to the dumpster and offered his assist.
In the end, she always let him, though she did try to resist!
I could draw out this long story. There were dates, flowers and candy.
They wed, and though he bored her, his gross income came in handy!

Prompts for today are junk, nemesis, paradisiac, nifty and income. Photo by Yannes Kiefer on Unsplash. Used with permission.

Last Meeting

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Last Meeting

Listen to the nightingale. Do not dispute the loon.
The truth is told by lonely things calling under the moon.
Brought to the brink, their plaintive truth we cannot impugn
as we glide to their music, out into the lagoon.

Waves form spreading circles around our small pontoon.
Internal sorrows follow them, lapping a soulful tune.
Slanted columns of moonbeams are swallowed by each dune.
Like our brief encounter, over too soon, too soon.

 

Prompt words are brink, column, internal and impugn. Image by Damir Spanic on Unsplash, used with permission.

 

Patent Pending

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Image by Jake Pierrelee on Unsplash.

A Modest Proposal

I am applying, here on bent knee,
for you to grant a franchise to me
to be your beloved—your regular guy.
Given that I am awkward and shy,
but I am also one jubilant fellow,
determined in will though my legs are like Jell-o,
who aims to get over his natural bent,
in order to voice, to proclaim and to vent
that my heart will be steadfast and loving and true
If you will grant me a patent on you!

Word prompts today are shy, franchise, jubilant and beloved.

First Love: Fandango’s Dog Days of August, Aug 18

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Then and Now

First Love

Zing! went our heartstrings. Zang! went our souls.
Eyes filled with wonder, hearts cupped like bowls
ready to fill  with passion and love.
Putting each other on like a glove.

First kisses miracles we’d never known.
No longer single all on our own.
Someone to cuddle, someone to spoon.
Hand holds and lip locks over too soon.

Misunderstandings, squabbles and fights.
Heartbreak and lonely Saturday nights.
Then a new glance from cars “U”ing  main.
Flirting and wooing all over again.

More hugs and kisses parked on a hill.
How to forget them? We never will.
At school reunions, we relive those lives,
husbands beside us, or boyfriends or wives.

Talking of other things: study halls, games,
but always remembering carving those names
in desktops and memory—first loves forever—
tendrils that bind us that we cannot sever.

We’ll soar ahead to the rest of our lives,
collecting new memories—bees in our hives.
But no honey finer than that we made first.
No sweeter lips and no stronger thirst.

Stored in our hearts, remembered but hidden,
hoarded like treasures sealed in a midden,
our lives are made richer by both now and then.
Past memories opening over again

spill out old secrets, then seal them away
to be unwrapped on some future day
when old schoolmates meet for two days’ reminiscing
of school pranks and ballgames and homework. And kissing.

 

 

This is a reblog of a poem from four yers ago For FDDA :First Love