Witchcraft [Poem]

Those fingers in my hair,
that sly come hither stare
that strips my conscience bare –
it’s Witchcraft

– Frank Sinatra, Witchcraft

She must have seen me first
through a thousand years of history,
for when she came to my door
she wore the exact name of my future.

She gazed through me
with eyes a thousand years long,
until I felt I belonged there,
trapped behind her pupils.

Her fingers passed the universe
through my callused palms
while she read my fate
in a calm voice I could not understand.

With molten lead
she cleansed my eyes of all evil
until she became my sight
and I could see nothing but her.

With a thousand spells, she reversed the moon
and became my night sky
and when I tried to question her and I,
she made me forget all of my why’s.

Written based on Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Magic – May 20, 2021:

the night glows lively

I feel the magic don’t you

moments to cherish

Photo by Rowan Heuvel on Unsplash

Frost // Kennedy [Poem]

By destiny bound,
two men stood side by side,
surrounded by sound
pouring from cheering human tides.

The day was set
for future to dawn,
there on the White House lawn,
under a noon-time sun.

The light was blinding,
the old man finding it hard,
to read the words he wrote,
forced to speak from his heart

a truth at once
brighter, stronger, surer,
than when last he spoke it
when his intentions were purer.

For he came this day,
to join hand in hand,
with the political future
of a much younger man.

They stood and smiled and waved,
til the crowd had gone home,
neither knowing that before long,
they both would be gone.

At DVerse, the prompt today calls for us to write about a famous poet. Your title must include the poet’s name and you should try and employ something of the poet’s style.

Mirror’s Image [Poem]

I, in my mirror’s image,
am inverted
and yet to my
imperfect eyes
I see myself whole
in that reflection.

I, in time,
refine my methods of seeing
to find only what
that false reflection
already
so cruelly defined.

Who am I
to read my mind?
All I do is think thoughts
others have already rhymed
and internalize the false reflections
I see mimed in other’s eyes.

Under those eyes, mine,
the lines stretch long
as I try to re-invert
that mirror image
to show myself a reflection
that is truly mine.

Photo by ali syaaban on Unsplash

For Eugi’s Weekly Prompt, we are asked to craft a poem from the following prompt:

viewpoint from within

heightened thoughts emerging soon

beyond perspective

Blue Tuesday Heart-String Blues [Poem]

My heart is overgrown with vines

that glow green-radiant
in unkempt spring breezes
and rustle
across the un-tuned strings
of my weary heart
in the most sweet-melancholic melody

Like the ghost of a memory,
that melody stirs something
somewhere in the deep recesses amid the vines,
the phantom limbs of the breeze
hugging my heart
in the wailing and whistling vocals
of my ancestors.

The vines wrap around my heart
tightly against the dusk
and the promise of cold,
their old and reborn roots anchoring me
as the blue-frost edges of sunset
take hold.

Blanketed by ghosts and memories,
my heart aches
as I recall
amid the piercing notes
of my Blue Tuesday heart-string blues
how many vines I tore up,
expecting to remain rooted.

Photo by Pete Walls on Unsplash

On DVerse, the prompt today is to write a poem about the word blue, whether the color, the feeling, or the musical style.

The Readers [Poem]

By low lamp light and long after
the sun has said its goodbyes
Our weary and tired eyes
run across unfolding pages
Seeking all the knowledge
that by the light of day passed us by
And losing daylight hours
in the process

We lean drowsily in reading chairs
against bookshelf backdrops
Watching raindrop reflections
roll thoughtfully down window panes
Borne along their whimsical way
by subtle midnight breezes
That dance strands of hair
from our eyes like ballet

Our split screen symmetry
is separated by mere miles
Filling our solitary spaces
with a shared energy
So that each time my absent eyes
turn to scattering raindrops
I expect them to return
to find you here

Each page I turn is soft marked
with traces of your fingers
And your scent lingers
among allusions and allegories
I hear each word sing out
as though sprung from your alluring lips
And I find myself smiling
not knowing why

There is passion amid these worn out pages
and bookmarked thoughts
And the way your fingers
traced each word is almost erotic
Feeling my palms soft folded
against the small of your book’s spine
Makes me want to lose sleep
between its covers

The silence between phrases
pulses with such heated tension
That I cannot help but lose myself
in that silence so that
I might grasp the pieces
you let me see of your history
And warm them tenderly
in ardorous hands

The tired longing
of the early hours of the nighttime
Draws us both – at length –
to the comfort of our separate beds
Our internal rhymes slowly syncing
through shared breath and heartbeats
Dreaming of morning
reading between soft sheets

Photo by Natalie Grainger on Unsplash

The Dead Sea [Poem]

Under the darkness
of a new moon,
The Dead Sea
is a mirror
that casts
no reflections,
A surface
made of glass,
primed to shatter,
or burst,
doomed to return
to sand –
forever to run
in-corporeally
through the fingers
of cupped hands.

Wade into the water
as deeply as you can,
but you will
not leave a ripple.
Your brittle bones
will slip beneath the surface
like a ghost
and if you dream
to dive deep into the sea,
know that the thick water
will swallow you
in a single breath
and spit you out
on the coastline
long before the water considers
giving up its depths.

Photo by Dave Herring on Unsplash

This poem was written based on the below prompt titled Eugi’s Weekly Prompt – Reflections – April 15, 2021:

reflections mirror

past, present and future, the

outset of purpose

Since everything is a reflection of our minds, everything can be changed by our minds. – Gautama Buddha

Go where the prompt leads you and publish a post on your own blog that responds to the prompt. It can be any variation of the prompt and/or image. Please keep it family friendly. Prompts close 7 days from the close of my post.