wistfully she gazes out to sea
as the waves crest and kiss the skies
missing that which you can’t see
but you feel her longing
deep in her disguise
the home she left
behind to
claim her
prize
*A nonet is a nine line poem. The first line containing nine syllables, the next line has eight syllables, the next line has seven syllables. That continues until the last line (the ninth line) which has one syllable. Nonets can be written about any subject. Rhyming is optional.
i have a tattoo between my breasts
inked there for a boy i once loved
long gone now though ink remains
forever there it taints
constant reminder
innocence fades
taunting me
my heart
caged
*Nonnet: A nonnet is a type of poem which has nine lines, with the first line having 9 syllables, the second 8 syllables, the third 7 until the ninth line has only one. Some nonnets may also have an iambic meter (stress on every other syllable).
I’ve moved past from all the days wishing
you were living this life with me.
Did you ever dream the same –
do you like what you see?
Life moves on as we
follow along
mindlessly –
then we’re
gone.
*Originally published 4/10/14
Nonet: A nonet is a type of poem which has nine lines, with the first line having 9 syllables, the second 8 syllables, the third 7 until the ninth line has only one. Some nonets may also have an iambic meter (stress on every other syllable).
it’s the yearning that hits me the worst
when all I think about is you
what you’re doing, where you are –
are you thinking of me?
and in the silence
that follows, should
i believe
what i
see?
When you gaze at me like that, I melt
like snow upon the mountain top
hurtling down through crags and rocks
yearning to be with you,
yet can never be
your only one
my fate like
morning
dew
on this day two years ago, he died,
driven home from the hospital
for it was cheaper to die
at home, not surrounded
by his children for
they were too far
from home, now
on their
own.
there’s a storm brewing deep inside her
rumbling like thunder in the dark,
seeking release lest it rips
right through her, tearing her
troubled soul apart,
till nothing’s left
but broken
bits of
heart
For the first time in a long, long time
she felt beautiful in her eyes
her lips red from his kisses
arms warm from his embrace
long after he left
the bed still warm
but only
where he
lay
You just inherited a dilapidated, crumbling-down grand mansion in the countryside. Assuming money is no issue, what do you do with it?
Fix it, paint it, then call it my home
this is the place I’ll call my own
in the countryside where the
mornings, bliss; dreams bestowed
by sweet Seshat’s kiss,
to write, to read,
so many
tales to
weave.
Morrighan's Muse 