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No Rules Poetry Contest
Deadline: Today!

250 Word Flash Fiction
Deadline: Jul 10th

One Line Poem
Deadline: Jul 13th

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Deadline: Jul 19th


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Author: None
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 Category:  Biographical Poetry
  Posted: September 27, 2015      Views: 428

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This work has reached the exceptional level
"Mood Wrung" by jlsavell
The day growing lazy, 
yearning to pull its shades 
across the beckoning twilght
Its silver haze imbued
with a tinge of grapefruit hues
just at the hem
of the remaining day's garment  
Ombre in graduated  form

Twilight evokes tranquility;  
a time of reflection,
calming pensive moodiness 
We sat outside, the two of us
in this evening's breeze
I say breeze;
it was more like a soft teasing kiss; 
seductive, gentle, and comforting 

I sat in a lotus pose
His child, his only child,
sweet and affectionate, 
reclined lazily at my feet
Her energy, her spirit
as sweet as golden honey,
like her fur 

Still in my posture,  
she mimicked my state 
The Northern Star began to wink
like an S.O.S. - perhaps God's message
Talk my child, talk, I will listen
I wanted to talk, to wring my worries, 
to salve my hurt; 
here beneath the southern pines 
in which the slightest winds
played the leaves in dulcet scales
with symphonic finesse 
Her sweet brown eyes met mine
as if to say you're not crazy,  
just human

Her master's friend 
doesn't know me, 
but she boldly declared, 
"Keep that bitch away from her. 
She will kill her!"
I ruminate over this remark, 
trying to shove it down 
where the excrement of life resides

Across the far horizon
fly the black birds
Ravens perhaps,
but one missing in formation;
for she sits before me
squawking judgement
while a cross dangles from her wing

I was six, shy, timid, and scared 
Lenny was my heart, 
even when his heart
and his brains were
splattered across my gingham dress
My soul murdered with a shovel of evil

Scattered membranes 
like gobs of red/yellow goo 
clung to my flesh like ticks
He, this brut-
my Mother's needed husband, 
rotund and red-faced
aglow with evil satisfaction
His big toothy grin spoke, 
"Clean it up... and the garden too!"

With little hands and dry tears,  I did
He slaughtered innocence that day
My heart was interred with Lenny
and memories chiseled
in a non-existent headstone
All creatures great and small
are held there, not too close, 
not too far 
My spirit pounds beneath the earth 
pulsating, a throbbing ache in my temporal lobe

The dusk has given its charge
to the black-velvet texture of the night
The Northern Star twinkles brighter 
I rise from my position, take a deep breath
and exhale, 
along with the long held rush of tears
in which those unfounded words
ripped a festuring wound 

My sweet friend rises to my hips, 
licks my hands wet with tears
I think God listens
My mood wrung,
 wrung from a day's clutch

Poem of the Month contest entry


Author Notes
Written from my phone. No pic, no color, just a poem.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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