Silver Thorn Of Bloody Rose

Silver Thorn of Bloody Rose



Tiny trickles, a giggle, that never laughs,
bleeding, that never lasts long enough to hurt .
Your face, soft angles and evil perfection,
smiled as you plunged deep the blade, tailor made to
control the level of pain, as you opened veins...


You begged, licked the wounds, odd titillation at first,
'til your thirst was more than I was prepared to bleed.
Nothing impeded your insidious search for
the perfect bloom, rosy pink skin arched for hours;
You were delicious perfection...in the dark.


Glistening skin embracing misty air, entrapment
parading as care, drenched in those sultry shadows.
The surreal scent of yesterdays roses, as
love decomposes. Your bloody footprints trampling
scattered petals- left crushed upon the garden path.

Posthumously Yours

Posthumously Yours

Dust knows not color, religion, or sex,
dust conceals lies, obscures truth, redirects.
In blinding storms it ravishes and chokes.
It springs new life, then, ruthlessly revokes.

We sweep it out the door to hide our screams.
It's face's form the shattering of dreams.
Dust settles, changing muddy springtime rain.
it festers wounds, captures youth, embraces pain.

Words of my days are scattered in the breeze...
whispers lost to winds, sighs amidst the trees.
Settling on the sills of souls windows, posed;
shuttered by sheer stubbornness, latches closed.

Now- these words are otherworldly...
now the feelings seem your own?
Now- the shadows veil your blame,
Now- you give deceit a home?
Now the dust defies your shame...
now you hear lost soul's refrains?

Ignored before, why would you heed me now ?
Afraid I'd break your trust, or disavow
some sad responsibility I bore...
when ill was never done to you before ?

Did you believe I dealt in dread deceit?
Were you concerned your secrets be complete?
Need reassurance I'd be without gain?
or...was I just object of your disdain?

Here now, as dust, my raspy voice enthralls.
You bend to hear, each tearful word that falls.
Death equalizes words once held inside
and utters what my living breath denied.

You listen now, my ghostly voice sounds clear-
I don't provoke attack, invoke your fear.
Words streaming now from some ethereal plane...
So curious- since my words ring out, the same.

(rewrite of PTG improv 8.17.03)

In Shallow Graves

In Shallow Graves

Barely cold,
we don new skins and venture into tomorrows
with a vengeance meant for death.
Yet we forget our days of breath and raindrops
and court new eternities
resorting to odd prayers and incantations
like the fodder of old tragedies.

Dare we go
where intellect leaves sense?
Where faith and fantasy eclipse the stars we wish upon?
Dreams die in shallow graves aching towards the surface
a heartbeat away from our sighs.
Each whispered play of words, achingly
drifts upon the breezes, aimlessly.

Who’s to know
where orphans go when left to wander?
Roaming where the dust decays;
blood and soul bereft, and left
with only apparitions counsel?
Drifting until their nuance as a muse,
is finally inhaled as inspiration...

Days unfold.
I try to hold the present hostage to my hopes.
To breathe in deeply from the
breezes passing through, remembering these
animas may choose to touch my soul, someday.
I scratch the earth. I plant the seeds
encouraging their reveries.

4.7.11 (rewritten PTG improv poem)

All On Tape

All On Tape

It's there, if we dare to unwind it- sublime truths,
hidden motives, peeking through the frames
of memories we're afraid to claim as real.
Conspiracies whispering too softly to be understood,
silenced moans too awfully frightening to be believed.
Pretending normalcy . Hypocrisy spawns lunacy. Blame placed,
Damage done. Graves deep. The secret will keep.
Numb, deaf and dumb, and mostly blind,
we climb down, dashed, our sanity smashed into dust.

The facts will turn to mist with time, in twisted fashion.
Uncontrolled passions, squelched and crushed,
turned fables that refuse to rhyme and sing.
Ringing in time as the bay buoys steel,
revealing senseless sensibility and recycled honor.
Worries evolving -untouchable as screams
crushed by the lack of our own self esteem .
Senseless fears. Voluminous tears. Languishing theories.
History weeps, and fear creeps in.

Vapors choking our breath. Lies too thick to detect.
Washed clean with explanations of Infidel nations.
Politics, Activists and Lunatics, converging
with no sense emerging, as the fires smolder.
The upper echelon casts its spell. The myths dispell, we're
mesmerized... and desensitized. Force fed
to finally surmise- it's terror unleashed.
The tapes, the truth, will keep.

2010 Tag poem, edited , topic by Budsilver, written in Poetry Tag Group

Dreams By Day

Dreams By Day

In restless nights I wander nightmares’ edge
while wishing weariness would wage it's will.
Each morning hears me make another pledge
to dispatch heartaches where they've hurt their fill.

Half wakened through the day, I trudge on through
until my hands won't hold a task in grasp.
I'd blink back tired thoughts, exhaustion grew…
I'd gasp for rest, like reaching for an asp!

The day dreams come, and smooth the pain aside.
The gaze of mesmerizing wishes fall.
I take my tiredness and push full stride
past all the sleepless nights I can recall .

Ah but those dreams by day are such respite
from all the nightmares mundane to my nights!

Written in a Poetry Tag Group room 2009. Unedited.

A Series of Boxes

A Series of Boxes

Bits and pieces, a whole lifetime, jumbled
in a series of boxes, aptly labeled.
Safe in compartments: decisions, choices;
echoes of heart, and familiar, odd voices.
Discarded moments, some cast easily
others more tender stuff of memories,
tougher to relinquish offhandedly.
.
Cardboard and me, share commonality:
Strong but easy to fold, done precisely.
Crumpled lately, my strengths evading me,
trapped by a talented origamist;
folds upon folds, altered my existence.
Holding capacity wholly transformed
'til all contents overflowed, unrestrained.

Divided, not conquered, embraceable bits
of a life and a love, and it's consequences
now simplifications - trapped in extremes;
justification: an ends to a means.
Staggering stacks bursting tight at the seams,
locked away links to a past now outgrown.
One last box waiting- marked simply: unknown.

©Denise-Marie Fisher 12.15.09

Edited from an improvisational poem done in Poetry Tag Group Photo from:gallery.photo.net/photo/1170760-lg.jpg Topic Acknowledgement : Phillip Redking44@aol.com

Apology Not Accepted

Apology Not Accepted

Words unleashed in perfect measures,
often lovely, often treasures ;
now off the cuff , candidly wrought-
raw reactions to careless thought.

Hold tight the hand and touch the cheek,
removing pain, admitting weak
willed lack and sorrowful attack.
Once uttered, words do not come back.

Blood spills as tiny fissures leak
from content we were loathed to speak.
An essence wasted on the rash
whose tongue is loose and bound to lash.

Apology, accepted -not!
You chose the words, you wrote the plot
that leaves you in this rapport's end-
a noxious one, I thought, a friend.

©Dreamsbyday