That evening the lake
Hosted a convention of stars.
They floated in an array of sequined glory.
You threaded your fingers through mine –
Pulled me from my chair –
“Let’s go see the show.”
We sat on the pier – our legs dangled.
I shivered and you tucked me under your arm.
We watched the sun ripen
In a lemony slide toward the horizon –
I could smell it over the water.
You reached –
Plucked the skyfruit –
Squeezed it into a cerulean cup –
A juicy swirl of red, orange, yellow.
You drank and it made you glow.
“Leave me some.”
I reached –
The cup vanished.
Lingering drops of nectar
Glistened on your lips.
I kissed them off –
Sweet and hot fusion
Escalated through a florescent sky.
We rode the current – a twining helix of two.
When I opened my eyes
I saw that we were starlight.
H. Bullough 4-27-2017
Inspired by a poetry prompt at www.poetryprompts.tumblr.com.
Challenge: Write a poem with the phrase “and we were starlight.”
Not related to the poem below at all, but I liked the picture.
My UPS Driver Works for the CIA – Rictameter Verse
He grabs the box –
Carries it to the door –
Stashes it where no one will see –
Runs to the waiting van and speeds away.
The dog stayed silent – No one saw.
She came – the dog bellowed.
Heeled shoes are not
H. Bullough 4-21-2017
Rictameter Verse: Nine lines in the poem, and a strict syllable count —
2 syllables in the first line, then 4 syllables in the next, then 6, then 8, then 10,
then 8, then 6, then 4, then 2 in the last, with the first line repeating itself in the last line.
Please Understand, I’m Writing
I want to say –
I can’t answer my phone
While I’m at work. It’s destructive.
Disorienting. I get yanked away –
Time and space shatter and I’m lost –
Will I find my way back?
Tell the prince, I’m
H. Bullough 4-21-2017
An abecedarian poem. This kind of poem starts each line with the next letter of the alphabet, in order. Why? Because I saw one on someone else’s blog and just had to try it. Besides, I always wanted an excuse to actually use that word. Did anybody else ever read the Children of the Lamp series, by P.B. Kerr?
Daydreams of Perfection
Analog or digital? I wonder, standing in the
Baking aisle at the supermarket.
Can’t cook without a timer.
Everything else gets
Forgotten. Burn the house to the
Ground if I’m not careful. A timer gives a measure of
Hope that all is not charcoal.
I may never be gourmet, but
Just once, I’d like my cookies
Kind to the teeth. Not
Like hockey pucks or something that begs for
Milk to help choke it down.
Nobody wants cookies like that. For
Once, I’d like them to be
Perfect. The kind you wake up in the
Quiet of night, mouth watering, unable to
Resist the temptation to
Sneak down the dark hall barefoot on cold
Tile floors, braving the Legos you
Unwisely thought could wait till morning to clean up. I have
Visions of pain and
Writhing on the floor because of a
Xyphoid piece of plastic. Digital, I decide.
You need precision to make cookies worth risking pain and nighttime
-H. Bullough 4-20-2017