July 23, 2010

The Bedsit.

Little room with no view,  I occupy you,
you're filled with a comfort divine.
Lain curled in your bed, dreams spin in my head
while your duvet and my legs entwine.

Our space is so neat, compact and complete,
not much scope for the notions to fall.
Bed only just fits, lamp sullenly lit,
as my silouette creeps up the wall.

The windows lay bare, as I dwell in your care,
no drapes or shades cover the moon.
Just a cloud or the stars, through the parallel bars,
bless us our joyful attune.

Some would dismay at tonality greys
surrounding this truncated cone.
 No luster or lure or sheets haute couture
grands a place up to feel more like home.

With minimum space and the simplest of grace -
we crown the apartments beneath.
But I love my small home, it's where I belong
Who needs palaces or laurel wreaths?

  This poem was inspired by Willow's picture prompt at Magpie Tales.

July 17, 2010

Brass In Passing

Magpie # 23

Old apartments, faded walls
Toned down lights, as nights befall.

And through the day they pass you by
Brushed by coats but not the eye.
A cylindrical brassy chamber
To snuff out flames before the danger.

If they needed you at all
Would you slide easy from the wall?
Would you function as you should?
Before the flames engulfed the wood

Who has cared to go peruse
The embossed words for future use?
No-one has swabbed your cobs away
As spider's spin, where you've to spray.

Can they rely on  pure assumption
You'll take up your primal function?
So many who don't give a jot
If you work  - or you do not.

So many years of disregard
Some learn the burning lesson hard.
She'll visit you, the fire sprite
Seeking reasons to ignite.

Old apartments, faded walls
toned down lights, as nights befall.

This piece has been written by a Willowy prompt for we Magpiers:

July 10, 2010

Sunkissed and Killed!

Magpie 22.......

You're growing so fast. I can't believe the changes in you. You're now mature enough to be tied against a pole, forced to stand straight and remain in this position until I decide what the next move will be. I'll not be around for hours at a time but I'll make sure you're secured under intense heat from the window panels.  I'll let the sun scorch skin until it glows red and the oppressive atmosphere of your dwelling snuffs out invading insects in minutes. Even in this heat I won't be giving you a drink until dusk. I will, however, feed you for they say sustenance is crucial to development. The healthier you are, the bigger joy I get when your time comes.  I may even slice a member of your family up before you, out of curiosity. What's one little sacrifice from an array of essences? Easy pickings.

I am a repeat offender. Every year this urge takes over me. My seed is scattered and the rewards are sweet. The glistening and perfect plumpness of your young skin, ripe for the taking and the basic taste sensation of your flesh can only lure me back time and again. I know you won't be here forever. And that's why every year I can't help but subjugate your future fruits, gird up your loins and keep a very close eye on you........................................