some spirits are as fragile as a rose
sweet as honey, lovely to gaze upon
but easily damaged
by callous souls who heartlessly ravage
scribbling hateful words with sharpened crayons—
soft petals wilt ‘neath weight of heavy prose
leaving door open to rot and disease
rose abandons hope, does a sad striptease
©️2023 jai
wounded couplet
Image by Jiří Rotrekl from Pixabay
the wolf is at the door
he howls…I moan
he knows I am in here
afraid and all alone
the wolf is at the door
he claws the ancient wood
he knows I am behind it
he knows I will taste good
the wolf is at the door
his nose draws in my smell
tastes the sweetness of my fear
his appetite I will quell
the wolf is at the door
I rise to let him in
this night will witness penance
past time to pay for sins
the wolf is at the door
I gather my courage close
my fingers curl round the icy knob
I let in the lupine ghost
the wolf is in the door
he growls...I scream
thrust my dagger into his heart
carve out his bloody wet dream
the wolf is on the floor
I smile in satisfaction
he thought I would be an easy meal
too weak to take bold action
the wolf dies on the floor
no longer a threat to me
I write my name in his cooling blood
for other wolves to see
©2023 jai
Image by Peace,love,happiness from Pixabay
childhood ghosts
haunt dusty dirt road
footprints gone
laughter gone
the brother and two sisters
grown and gone away
©️2023 jai
shadorma
John Parker stepped into his pants, glanced back at the woman sleeping in the bed he had just vacated. And the guilt hit him. Why did he do it? Why did he have to nail some bimbo he’d just met when he had a beautiful, willing wife at home?
He almost always questioned his actions after the fact. But never before. When he met a pretty young thing, every thought in his head was crowded out by the one imperative: get her in the sack. And since he fit all the prerequisites—tall, dark, handsome, successful—most A-list women had tucked away in their minds when eyeing a potential hookup, he seldom struck out. It was just so damn easy.
He left three hundred bucks—cab fare plus a little something extra—on the bedside table, and after looking around to see if he’d left anything behind, slipped quietly out the door. He hated goodbyes, some more than others. That’s how he’d ended up married to Liv: he couldn’t tell her goodbye.
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There was a young man named Bobby,
whose girlfriend made him a zombie.
When he started to rot,
she kicked his butt out,
without even his morning coffee.
©️2023 jai
limerick
Image by Russell Holden from Pixabay
In her life, she has crossed many rivers. Some she swam with sure, steady strokes; Some she walked over on burning bridges; Some were so shallow, she easily waded. But fording the last one, she almost drowned, Failed to reach the other side. The swift, black waters dragged her down, Filled her lungs with life’s heartaches, Then cast her battered body back to shore; Left her choking, gasping, gagging, Down, but not defeated. Never defeated. Older and wiser, she bided her time, Waited at the river for the dire wolves to come drink, And built a raft from their strong bones, Made a cape from their warm, gray fur, Then floated across the cold choppy surface And stepped off safe and warm on the other side. She fashioned a home from the raft bones, Made a bed from the sleek fur cape, And she abided there in the high desert Content and happy as she grew old Until the time came for her to leave. For there was one more river yet to cross. ©2023 jai
Image by freddy urbina from Pixabay
angry storm clouds hammering rain smothers frothing sea drowns hope of escape ©️2023 jai gogyohka
told to honor and obey little girls can’t find their way lips zipped against food and speech gotta stay skinny, gotta stay meek or true love won’t come their way submerging self, the price they pay striving to be who he wants her to be she loses her and becomes his she put Prince Charming on lofty pedestal feed the ego of immature male make him feel like a mighty king no matter the fact you’ll never be queen for him, queens are the porn-star pack perfect dolls all waxed, maxed, and stacked always ready, willing, and able not real women...just juvenile fables poor little girls become old women before realizing there is no winning for the enlightened, this epiphany brings joy no more worries about pleasing a boy just march to the beat of your own ditzy drummer pick white daisies in your own field of summer dance in the rain while the devil beats his wife and always carry a big suspicious knife ©️2023 jai
Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay
March chimes tinkle in the wind
Telling me spring is on the way,
Chasing away dark winter days.
And I wonder where the wind has been.
Unlike winter, spring sports a grin,
All toothy gold, warm, and gay.
March chimes tinkle in the wind,
Telling me spring is on the way.
Sometimes brash, chimes dance, drunk on gin.
Or perhaps, weed entered the fray.
Drunk or high or merry, who’s to say?
They jump and jingle as they spin—
March chimes tinkle in the wind,
Telling me spring is on the way.
©️2023 jai
rondel
(Author’s note: written for my mother, whose favorite season was spring.)
Image via Morguefile
On the Fringe of Darkness 