September 12th Saturday poetry prompt: the “verb” by J.D. Harms — Trapped wide in her murky Sargasso sea of thoughts, perhaps there is a bit of madness in everyone. Like Antoinette, am I committed to a third floor room of MY own? Who is my personal Rochester snatching my breath as I look in the mirror to glimpse my soul? Many…

Or is that my heart? — Amid the conversing caressing crushing and yearning, my blue skirt is clinging — or is that my heart? is this silk just a prop— a translucent barrier like my skin? and feeling through is still feeling — right? …

Homage to Nina Simone — The Purge began soon after the Neapolitan sky spilled honeycomb rays from the heavens Discarding elements impeding her aspiration to dance, drowning in a vortex of vacillation She sprang, grit larger than life Her sapphire blues sanguine reds, and even champagne yellows sparkled While her brassy skin, whispering sweet nothings to the…

Nor does it end at every shore — My ocean is not shallow, nor does it end at every shore. In my depths, find pearls submersed in pristine, uncharted waters. Lying dormant with time, this kaleidoscopic cache floods through my veins, cascading over my jagged peaks with its ambrosia— filling my valleys, overflowing with the divine, riding my howling waves…

A poem — Throwing on whatever comfy oversized tee I flung on the ottoman last night before slipping into bed My warm toes hit the chilly espresso wood floors as shivers streak through my limbs like lightning I make the trek barefoot to the kitchen to press the green power button on my…

A rhyming poem — I’m shrinking — I’m sinking I may just disappear Watch me slide inside this box To squelch my greatest fear I’m waning — I’m fading My purples scream abate This lovely square is luring me My ribbons dare not wave I’m beaming— I’m gleaming My flaming crimsons rise This box, though charming…

An ancient poem — lonely was swaying on the porch swing staring at a chocolateglue sky grey clouds wispy milky over the moon lonely was scribbling nonsense comparing dark skeletal trees to me verses written on secondhand lonely was crumpled used paper scraps of long forgotten notes and ancient lore lonely was hoping, dreaming of…

A prose poem — The skin can’t be moistened anymore, lest it turn to mold — thickened epidermis is better shorn with that stainless peeler that renders a Red Delicious easier to chew or maybe just bypass these pleasantries altogether, dive head first into the core, extract seeds to bloom anew — forget the…

Take heed, would-be dreamers — See me soar atop the silver-tipped moon blood a’ pulsing, skybreeze titillating my face leaving wayward stars and star-cross’d lovers* in my wake — swimming through the thickness of mind’s murky fray, your phantasmic reveries mustn’t be erased — take heed, would-be-dreamers delighting in your crowning fate, as my moon cometh…