Snow Moon

Snow Moon wakes to black winter sky
deaf and blind flies
full body bare
to longing stare

he watches on the earth below
restless lust grows
sets him afire
with base desire

he hungers for her pale, chilled skin
to plunge within
her cold, cold dark
and leave his mark

©2023 jai


Image by GooKingSword from Pixabay


She stares up at the starry sky
while puffs of clouds meander by
to silent, dark places not known.
She watches alone, all alone, yearning to fly.

All her life, she’s been a bird, caged,
frazzled, red feathers, eyes of jade;
both, no longer as sleek and bright—
In fact, she is quite a sad sight…has come unmade.

She’s been called a bitch—perhaps, witch?
—that wasn’t a spell, just a twitch,
muttered with a foul word or two
at the one who causes hoodoo, makes her bones itch.

One night she will straddle a broom,
run away from this life entombed.
To the far heavens, she will climb—
Yes, stay up long past her bedtime…fly with the moon.

©2023 jai


Image by Ruslan Sikunov from Pixabay

Wednesday’s Child

I was not born to be happy…

no bright star shone down on me

when I was dropped headfirst into the world

red-faced, kicking, screaming

and placed in my mother’s arms—

the only true home I’ve ever known

instead, a dark star witnessed my birth

stepped out of hell’s black hole

took me in its cold bony hands

and christened me “Wednesday’s Child”

damning me to a life of woe

not for me fair of face or full of grace

a clumsy witch with frizzy red hair

who mounts her broom

and beneath an alabaster moon

runs wild with the night

night understands, night knows

what beats inside my heart

what tangles and twists my soul

it doesn’t question, doesn’t judge

night is my beloved familiar

there’s a certain comfort in failure

a happiness inside misery

a pleasure in absent feeling

for a Wednesday’s Child

who has serenely accepted her fate


I was not born to be happy

©2023 jai

Featured image via Pinterest

Inspiration for “Wednesday’s Child”

Distressed Damsel

the damsel strolls in step with the night
snuggly swaddled in its ebony cloak
it has always been her one true friend
her moonstruck muse, whom she often misquotes

she scribbles her wishes on its blank black canvass
staples her dreams to the backs of dingy doves
nails her hopes to the wings of ravens
and sends them all to the stars above

she grimly dances with detestable devils
a wild, wicked waltz of spreading blight
hoots and howls at the muddy moon
scares away all the shiny white knights

©2023 jai

Image by kalhh from Pixabay