Wishing Well

bunchcut clumps of frozen roses
bundled tight with severed hoses
lay at rest beside a broken/wingèd
horse upon a token
buried deep beneath a well
somewhere in its wat’ry cell
reflects a beam of fortune calling
stalling, standing ten feet tall
against the wall, much to bestow
a tiny glist’ning, far below

in a note of candid calling
bawling of an issue, wrote
what comes as coming standard
wish you naught a fret, refraining gloat
a stubborn goat, a sour day’s bet
will ‘ere the morning hour be met
and call you shall with all in hues
this blinded, baited, blessèd news

Copyright L.M. 2007.

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Long Jump

how did I fall to this?
his spectrum wild and crazed
fortunate son of passion
living each breath fully
it invited me
like a warm bath
or triangle sheets
begging me to enter
and see just how lovely,
how comfort can be

underneath something was ill
someone broken, something still
intentions run aground on
the wrong shore, turn around

red ground company
and he silenced me with fear
but the slant of disease
gave it light, and now
I cannot be afraid
since between the sheets
slivered like a coward
I saw the hideous head of dishonour

underneath something was ill
someone broken, something still
intentions run aground
you’re on the wrong shore, turn around

    

       

Copyright L.M. 2007.