My friend, fair of face
A gentle smile, full of grace
Lips that blow a kiss of charm
Smeared with fragrant healing balm.

My love, coyly sighs,
Rosy cheeks and deep blue eyes
Beauteous and quick to please
Melting me with quiet ease.

My bride, raven hair
Draped around her shoulders bare
Brushed with hands of ivory
Softly tied with purity.

My mate, ample breast
Clothed in linen, cotton dressed
Skin as pale as satin moth
Underneath the flimsy cloth.

"KROKJUVET"
Kook=hook; Juv= gorge; et = the.
Margaret Ann Waddicor 4th may 2011

Patience born of time afield
Knowlege gained by long experience
Stealth learned from endless practice
      garbed in dark to hide in shadows

     Little escapes his steely yes
     as the hunter stalks his prey
 he picks.....and chooses
                              at his leisure
quarry often unsuspecting
      unaware of perhaps being passed over
      in favor of another mark

Can you dream about the dead?
I ask the sunset, while she fleshes
at night and settles in shadow-colours.
Can you digest this bony reality,
like a dog, like a buddha, like a cross
on a Sunday morning?
I ask Schrödinger's Cat, while he purrs like
a drunken gutar, and pointed to a vision
in the harsh sky.
The savannah trembles in agony,
for the big Subjective awakes.
How to frame the honey-coloured clouds?
I ask Yggradsil, the tree with the many leaves;
he didn't reply, but sinks in a prayer,

Red, white and blue

waves good riddance

to evil

wrapped in white

and plunged below the North Arabian Sea;

The Most Wanted,

in a weighted body bag,

is buried among fish

and seaweed,

oceans away from the

ashes of the Twin Towers,

I open up a screenless door
early on this pleasant April eve
allowing in night sounds and more
fragrances waft for us to breathe

We sit upon the couch we share
enjoying senses and watching shows
attention divided here and there
between outside and T.V.'s glow

Until a whine betrays the bane
of warm evenings everywhere
a mosquito seeking to attain
blood from any skin left bare

It's more of a Friday night though it's a Sunday morn
for the Sun's so alive,filled with lights reborn
from my rusty bed a new hope came into life
a new care for honor but am I worth the fight?
or at least I'm to draw blood from my fist,
back to the trail where I fell dead with a dance and breeze
so that little by little I could retain courage to leave this fright,
whenever the ghost of her is drawn to my dimming sight...
twenty years are wasted in an ugly face of the Earth,

star filled skies hold
those tiny moments
the ones
you look up at and
remember

today we spoke for
one moment

it felt
like yesterday
when skies
were filled with
red tail hawks and
wolf tracks

you mentioned
her name that day
as if a rusty pot
sprung a leak-
the magic boiled dry

we all make choices
to sacrifice satisfaction
but mistakes
can only
be made once

the sky tonight
holds moments of truth
none of them are you

.
scene set
exposition complete
minutiae displayed
exhaustively
music swells emotional proxies
we are hooked
...on something

the play is small
the dialogue stilted
hardly clever
yet, emeshed deep in place and era
this peek into the exotic
via flickering light
in lieu of flat black mundanity
delights me no end

Expender …

I have no need of great monies now
wisdom I find the better value.
To buy the world it won't change
self same green grass sky near blue.

What else is there to buy
when you have it all
You can only grow so fat
or stretch so tall

A better seat at events or games
but are they bought
Or have they been sold to you or
in other words have you been caught

Captured with the self same people
trying to be where you are
Cunning conniving unhappy people
trying so hard to hold a star