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.

Proximal

she hears it

thud

within her heart

darkening that softly whispered thing

he’d wept at her feet

squeezing his chest

begging her

to come back

where he could have her, love her

but, snow white

and glistening,

she congeals in

the rush of blood—

cheeks heated, flushed

and damp

spent where he

could never bring her back,

hold her into it long enough

to let it sink

into her skin,

her fluids,

her flesh and bones

holding her, hard

and pushing love into

that bruised place

she cries

every time he touches

forged with passion

sought with tears

a groove never deep enough

to reach the watercourse

and dangles

not siphoned,

a conduit,

clamped

as she turns away

too close

to feel it anymore

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Posting to The Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Ornament (Beauty for Ashes)

adorn me with your breath,

i will flower and grow

underneath the overgrowth

of black trees

that bear no fruit

and needle the ground

sleeping

in winter’s graveyard

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Slave (The Calling of Manumit)

One lung full while the other

constricts,                      

shrivels,

crushed beneath this weight

I can’t think, can’t  resist,

weakened

by the purchase of screws

I held myself down for

and bled my tears

listening to the

sweet sound

of mourning doves.

I have forgotten You

and I confess

sometimes I think You are gone,

abandoned me

for greener fields

of those more faithful.

But You say I am Your temple—

chained as I am to memory,

so please keep holding out keys

to this puzzle of wings

I am putting together

to fly away from ghostly apparitions

that visit me in my dreams.

They kiss me on the forehead

and keep me from the tiny living temples

that matter at all to me.

Serpent of haunting,

you’ve bitten, but you are crushed,

and I, while breathing in a whisper from the moon

through windows

streaming enlightened threads

in reflection of daylight,

in the back of my mind

I hear it

in each pump of blood

from my heart

I know

I know

I was meant to be free.

 

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

I'll be linking this to Poets United Poetry Pantry

Newly Fallen White

Her skirt of scarlet pulled

from the ankle;

as she hastened her steps

breath rose in forms of smoky blue.

Stopping cold on broken twigs

frozen in fairy tale,

she peered upward. Snow fell

with no cloud in the sky.

How soon lovers forsake the

faithful whispers of moonlight;

cooing birds shutter, flutter

and blur the lines with tears.

She’d only wanted one to love her,

but tragic oaths of mutilated promise                 

breed an anemic beast hungry for

a burning, scorching bite.

The milky air

washed invisible the copse of antiquity

while her lips turned aubergine

against the newly fallen white of frosty vows.

She squeezed the fruit and

licked the juice of indiscretion

with no pleasure.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OpenLinkNight Opening 12pm Pacific Time

Purple Shoelaces

She is

hiding behind black everything—

hair protruding from a black hoodie,

covering all but one eye.

Headphones are pumping sounds

into the darkly shrouded form;

I see the wires that must lead to an iPod

—hidden somewhere.

Staring down, so as not to

greet the oft-dismissing world, she walks

with slow purpose, counting the steps,

within the walls

where she keeps her fear of rejection.

She looks at me, despite herself,

as if she doesn’t want to be seen, but does—

and she can’t hide it

soon enough

that she is happy

to be noticed.

Hers eyes are pools of wounded gray,

deep, and soulful.

And I keep looking—eyes tell stories,

and dreams,

and everyone should have one.

Then I spot them—her black Converse shoes

have purple shoelaces,

and this bespeaks

the truth.

She doesn’t want to be disregarded.

Hiding

is just waiting

until it’s safe

to be seen.

I smile, at them, at her;

and she grins, lifts her chin,

and walks on.

While it occurs to me

we’re all

wearing purple shoelaces.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OpenLinkNight. Some of the best poets on the web. 

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

Linked to dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight