There is no path

A cascade poem for the Secret Keeper’s weekly prompt. The words to use are

GONE – SENSE – TRACE – VOICE – PATH

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Each second gone has slipped into the past,

Your voice still echoes in the lonely room,

There is no path that leads me back to you.

 

There was no sense in striving for the stars,

When we could not see the starlight in our eyes,

Each second gone has slipped into the past.

 

We talked and laughed; our hearts heard not a thing,

We spoke of safe things trying hard to please,

Your voice still echoes in the empty room.

 

The ties that bind were made of slender thread,

No trace they left when cold waves quenched our love,

There is no path that leads me back to you.

Humming a tune

For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt.

This week’s words are:

WIT – HURT – NOTE – HONEST – TEST

I’m afraid I used ‘whit’ instead of ‘wit’. Once it sneaked in, I couldn’t get rid of it.

Photo©Tony Castle

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You cared not a whit for the hurt,

The test is you never looked back,

You walked away humming a tune.

 

Words echo, so many false notes,

The smile on your face was a mask,

You cared not a whit for the hurt.

 

Your lies should have blackened my heart,

You were honest you’d never have left,

The test is you never looked back.

 

In the tree, a bird sings to the sun,

So much sweeter than memories of when

You walked away humming a tune.

Striking a pose

For the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt. This week’s words are:

CLUE – COURSE – TENDER – THREAT – POSE

Photo©Manfred Werner

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You strike a pose leaning on the rail,

As if you are guiding the cruiser’s course,

As if your charisma draws the gulls

That wheel and scream in our creaming wake.

I hide my laughter behind dark shades,

Hide the mocking, dancing light,

For I’d give no clue I’m watching you,

Have you believe you’ve hooked a catch.

You shift your weight, half-turn to see

Whose gaze is teasing the back of your neck.

Your jutting jaw with artful shadow,

Is how you set your tender trap.

Leaning now, your back to the water,

And watching me with a confident smile,

I shrug and take my place beside you,

Let your hand close over mine.

You cannot see, will never know

Could not decode the soft veiled threat,

But in my smile, my glittering eyes,

Is the poison you seek,

The fire you play with,

The gamble you lose.

 

Sweet summer sound

This is for the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt. The words to use are:

SOUND | SHARP | CLEVER | JUDGE | STILL

I’ve taken a few liberties with the words, but you get the general idea.

Blackbird,_Bystrc_14

A sweet sound fills the summer air,

I know to ware,

All movement stilled,

With beauty filled.

 

The trill of birdsong on the breeze,

Drifts through the trees,

So unaware,

Of my sharp stare.

 

All ears, I listen ’neath the tree.

I cannot see:

Enough to hear,

His song so clear.

Love strikes

The Secret Keeper’s prompt this week was a really tough one. These are the words:

 | SPACE | FRIEND | EVENT | MOVE | AIM

I had two attempts at it, each time using a synonym for friend and for event. As I said, I found this a hard one to write.

Jean_Béraud_Au_Café

The heart is faster than the eye,

Than sunlight moving through the deeps of space,

To fall with unerring aim upon your face.

The heart knew before the happening,

A twinkling too slow, so many beats behind.

Your eyes in mine, to all else blind,

Distance shrunk to a fond hand’s reach,

Sunstruck, just one look to waken,

I follow the path my heart’s already taken.

Staring into the river

The Secret Keeper’s weekly words prompt is to use these five words in a poem. Once again, finding a link between them was quite natural. Thanks for ideas, Secret 🙂

| STARE | RIVER | HOLD | TRUE | WEAR |

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Staring into the river,

Holding onto a dream,

That wears the outdated rags

Of another time.

I dip my hand into the stream,

To touch the cold glitter,

Of what once seemed true gold,

And wonder should I let it go.

The ripples spread,

The picture breaks,

Your face a shattered web,

Like cracked ice on a puddle,

Beneath, just cold mud,

And last year’s leaves.