Smoke Signals

What is that? It started in your head, but God meant it for your mouth …

How do you keep the ringlets of the pebbles tossed in calm lakes from swallowing up the reflection of those you love the most … just before you give them flight … the second upon which you release their memory stones from your palm? …

The film of your redemption was as thick as unkempt kisses … rude and rare meat mangled … cupping my palm gravel of you like a pale rose born from the oil of our bodies … pressed panting passions, and the hope which water slips finger fragrant through … sinking shadowed bubble ripplets rising to quench … to beg you …

Light a fire on your blackened banks and send me smoke signals … send me the sentiment God wanted your voice to call out in the moonlight across this unstill body of mirror and madness between us … I am waiting on the far shore … my hands empty of stone, thorn,  or misconception …

Only flowers and tenderness remain.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved June 25, 2015
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NaPoWriMo 2016 #23

The prompt today was to write a Sonnet.

“Traditionally, sonnets are 14-line poems, with ten syllables per line, written in iambs (i.e., with a meter in which an unstressed syllable is followed by one stressed syllable, and so on). ” via the NaPowriMo website http://www.napowrimo.net/

I ended up with 17 lines yet, in iambic pentameter. It has been many years since I’ve adhered to form being an utterer. I decided to leave it be. I hope you don’t mind.

dbb7953fHow shall I be a bride to death once more,
Your black rose has been left upon my door,
Speaking of your light as if the Source,
Deaf calling cards with no hint of remorse,
The Specter came to claim my bridely hand,
That morning we were to be wife and man,
His claw upon my fair face it was froze,
And withered did he every single rose,
I ran the streets in lace and pasty pearls,
The constable was sent to search the Burroughs,
Yet, to his horrified steads broken gate,
Abandoned was the man thrown on road slate,
Lo, the guests arrived from ghostly lands,
Vows recited to the baying of Hell hounds,
Death wore bat spats and a satin tie,
I stood wishing it were I to die,
You crossing not shades to claim, love in vain.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #15

The prompt tonight was to write on the subject of two or the other.

destroyed-feng-covered-bridge-chongqing-china-longest-covered-bridge-a-_s1sp

Between Your Curse and Mine

The bridge is burning between your curse and mine … you said it was mutual, my dreams said otherwise … Horus’ claw tearing at my heart from it’s magnet chamber … as the Underworld fell crippling all about me … gloss black glass and vacant flames … as your absence remains … you are not the disciple and I cannot allow Maat to weigh my hindrance as yet … nor feed my flesh to the crocodiles … though they sleep only to out wit me … I shall walk the red hot coals to breathe your world’s air … trust me … your dominion is not defined cask and cade … beg a cause for peace and I will lend you my rope and spy glass … the colorlessness of coming Winter will be here once more soon enough … his Lord’s prism and electric pride parade dancing on the edge of forever … I will save you a seat beside the Queen … if you will put out the fire.

© 2016 cdd All Rights Reserved

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

The prompt tonight was to use a fortune cookie saying in some way in our poem. I keep all my fortunes in my purse. Odd little quirk of mine. This is one of my favorites, Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere.

NaPoWriMo 2016 #13

2015 - 1 (2)

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere. “, said Miss Ling, as she opened the door for her guest.

“Then I must be a king tonight.” chortled Dishi, ” Quite happy I wore my silk that is best!”

“Please,” she motioned, “come inside. The dumplings are steaming and the rice is already fried.”

“I am hungry !! ” he exclaimed, then felt a little ashamed. “I miss dumplings since Mother died.”

“You are our honored guest tonight, Dishi. I made your Mother’s dumplings special for you.” Miss Ling took his arm as he deftly offered.

In they strolled, friends rose in welcome, amidst candle light, aromas, and a table full of delicious coffers.

© 2016 cdd All Right Reserved

Photo Credit: https://www.papermasters.com/zen-buddhism.html

#NaPoWriMo 27

Come child drink from the well of your youth … do you recall the ripple of Mother’s essence gifted you? … they taught you how to prime the pump with merely a cup … the rusty old iron handle held in place … once released would lift you off the wooden well deck … you held with one hand and poured the primer with the other … then dropped like a bug bomb your legs tucked up to double your weight … down to the floor and again once more … until your heard the happy sound … cold, metal, flake, reflective joy poured out … your baby mouth hurrying to drink from you hands before filling the dusty cup … the overflow causing you to goggle at the way it splashes your wee legs … little toes wriggle in the rainbows … drink long and fill your soul … quench the thirst so many years have left you … it is Spring and you have come home again …

 #NaPoWriMo 27

© 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

#NaPoWriMo 25

The virgining leaves tremble in the morning’s essential breeze … Dawn awakens to chase the chill of Night and warm the liquid light bodies of snail and tree frog … the slip and candid fasten frail tendrils of all blossoming vines open their awareness … unfurling the paper white fragility of their dance petal symphony … nodding head mosses stretch through the drench of dew bonnets upon their  sleepy heads … as the iridescence of their quartz footings kiss the Master good morning … “It is in your light, I find my freedom” they whisper softly … bluebells opening their life giving sweet songs written in the law of true unconditional love … this mystery turns in the gathering morn … we human have long forgotten … soon, the morel stands witness …

 #NaPoWriMo 25

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

#NaPoWriMo 7

The first golden sheen of Spring’s lace has shown this evening upon the lipid pool of our lake’s watery cheeks … Mother Willow has awakened … her olive skin both taunt and telling storie tales bark lines hold … braille breath still till whispered ears buy eyes the right to read her history on the wind as well … she is still growing strong from her grand mother’s stump … Earth torn by the great storm which took so many of them … yes, even time will pause at it’s mention … can we put a price on such moments as these … I pray, at times, these are the memories my heart will never let go of.

  #NaPoWriMo 7

  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

Sweet dreams and Good Night all. I must slumber. I promise to read you tomorrow. 🙂 Blessings, CD