Showing posts with label Falling Out of Rhyme. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Falling Out of Rhyme. Show all posts

Monday, February 25, 2013

Sandmorphs of the Amethyst Moon

The watchful eye of the bleeding heart moon
turned amethyst,

her vellum glowed in its gaze—
a canvas for creatures of prey.

Black sand morphed white on her toes,
confectioners’ sugar

to said creatures
making them voraciously bay.

Storm clouds rained dirt
for moments turned years

while she learned to make bloodcastles
with hellbowls of tears.

Sorry for what they’d done,
treacherous birds of root

flew from her tormented refrain
to nest and to watch from beaches of soot.

A pièce de résistance complete
in its unfinishing,

thus, she set off to hunt prey of her own.
She tortured a few, but could kill only time,

true more to herself than a rule.
She’d only been waiting on setting cement,

and Prince Charming’s repent
for having left her alone in the light of such an encouraging moon.

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Linking up to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads for Open Link Monday and OpenLinkNight at dVerse Poets Pub.

Saturday, February 16, 2013


She keeps her freaks
by cheeky grin.

I listen,
not listening, again.

I am no novice, as may seem,
to pretty words in stunning hue
even if the eyes of which
are broken-marble blue.

There are no true heartbeats
in her Smashbox made up sheen,
and pseudo-Fendi bag of

when all she wants
is you.

And you,
and you,
and you.

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Jukebox (Boombox), Baby

Joan Jett on cassette
softball summers
of field-dirt-crusted scabs
on my knees
and thighs
sliding into second
my dad said I never did it quite right
because there should be more on my thighs
if I were

a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop
with a ‘tude
sneaking gin and Jack Daniels
and smokes
dreaming of VW Super Beetles with glitter in the paint
or a ‘64 convertible Mustang, cherry red too, of course—
and The Outsiders

in audible
relief, mom and dad,
I didn’t turn out wielding
a six-string and blowing sugar pops
but still I do
Love Rock ‘n Roll

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poets Pub master prompter and poet Stuart McPherson has us writing about 'Growing Up'

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Not a Circus Fan

Circus me a frown
clown in neon blue
with stripes
I see in my sleep

Oscillating, like a cyclone
like that time
after too many mango margaritas
in Cabo

pirate clown
black and white
and stubbly beard

I hope he won’t hug me
scratches, Patches
and his scent
like bourbon on Santa’s breath

Now there’s a clown

asking if “mommy” would like to sit
on his lap too

Watery eyes, seen too many
of glasses

And cigar smoke
fingering the suit

I make for
the other end of the sleigh
feeling a bit like sequins and legs

and hope for more
of stale popcorn
and less of
the inexplicable circus peanut

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Abuse of Power, Power of Abuse

Leave me to solve riddles,
in the dark ruminations

puzzling with pieces
slipping through my fingers.

They have long legs and,
until now, ran faster than I could;

but I have sprouted legs of my own, and

the caramel is dripping
from your polluted apple

revealing a leprous underbelly
and the twists of your myths.

Since released
I write my farewell to arms,

though I know it will not pierce your heart.

I have learned the impossible
remain impossible, impervious,

and must rule

without question,
without consequence.

I write to pierce my own
and release your venom

to drip, to flow,
to collect in puddles at my feet.

While ash and toxicity
paint bleak the petrified forest

where once hearts of
children tried to play,

before you caught them, taught them,
deftly smothered them in your decay.

I have escaped, but intermittently I
perchance upon your minions,

try as I may, when near,
I cannot blind the stench from my nostrils

from the blood
on their hands.

My blood

mind you, cries out for justice,
and like Abel’s,

is heard.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner