Our bodies are pleasured
in mechanical precision
spiral from bangs and pops
to a flatliner
The short lived happy hormones
are still
lingering in our minds
Our spirits have lost
their joyous sparks
in our world of
lack of
self expression
and
self love
Our entwined bodies crisp the satin sheet
Perfume and cologne sweeten the pungent sweat
The little bell on my bracelet
sings in harmony with moans and growls
like kittens playing on a lazy Sunday noon
Many times I had dreamt that
I held your callous hands
tugged myself under your hem
where you shielded me from the sudden rain
Many times I had convinced myself that
I was strong enough to fend for myself
from all the accusing fingers
which you would had crushed them without hesitation
Many times I had wished you were still here
to share the weather worn swing
sipping lemon tea together while
recounting our childhood mischiefs
I didn’t know that I had lost you
until so many times I had misplaced
my memory of your presence
They snugged up on me
in my most vulnerable state
where I had no tomb to crawl into
no means to make my way to you
The golf course had already filled up with carts and players before the sun heated up. Dawn was dragging her steps on the last leg of her daily brisk walk along the outskirts of the golf course. It was a humid Saturday morning, late Spring, and she was already drenched in big fat sweat stains. They felt like ill-formed targets for the self-hatred she’d always had towards her block of lard body. Lately though she’d been turning her anger into motivation to exercise; however she could do without the smell of pollens, especially from the scarlet bottlebrush. The sound of her labouring breaths drew the attention of other walkers on the path. Just before they could work out where the wheezing noise was coming from, they saw Dawn’s legs turning into jelly, then heard a loud thud…
I set out for a journey to forever
the path seemed bright and clear
back then
here I am
wandering indecisively
at the intersection
of another thwarted attempt
feeling lost in a panic
unable to read the street signs
written in a foreign language
hot coals are bubbling underneath my bare feet
the blazing sun is prickling my exposed skin
if only God will give me a sign
but in my malnourished mind
will I trust my own judgement
between a mirage and a vision
Dear Reader,
I am calling for writing prompts, not just any prompt, Your prompt is what I am asking help with.
For 343 days, I have been writing mainly poetry and posting on this blog. There were days I didn’t feel like anything would come out. Those days I managed to write something was attributed to the help from writing prompts.
I have been participating in a Creative Writing short course and will follow by a 30 day writing boot camp program. But for now, I feel I need the discipline to remain writing poetry daily.
So, your help is greatly appreciated, of course if only you would like to kindly offer me a poetry writing prompt. I will do my best to write one based on the prompt.
With respect and love,
Cassa
tread the long and winding road
thorns and thistles
storm and hail
make my way to you
I make my way to you
calm and clear
blooms and twine
we skip down the narrow path
Who says
the night has its charm
Parties are of cold blue
clinically
skim off
all companions
to discover perhaps one
worthy partner for the night
stop being
an assassin for small talks
smile, nod, raise a glass
go along, blend in
no need to see
no need to know
no need to feel
when the night is over
be rid of my mask
the next party
on repeat
for the world to see
I am living
inside slowly dying
in this meaningless
pit
Flicker of Thoughts 