Love Hurts (especially at Halloween)

As I write this the randomly creeping floorboards in my house are making my chest pound more than usual, no doubt because my mind has been contemplating all things spooky tonight in anticipation of tomorrow. What better theme for a writing meet on 31st October than Halloween? Well that would be far too straight forward for the Leeds Savages, so instead we went for the potentially related, but also far broader, 'Love Hurts'.

My main effort has definitely jumped on the seasonal wagon; hope you enjoy it....


'Love Hurts'


Last night I met a vampire,
He said his name was Fred,
He declared that I made his heart race,
I said 'how does that work when you're dead?'
He asked me if I'd join him
And bed down in his lair,
I replied 'But you live in a grave, mate!'
He cried 'But the last one didn't care!'
'Well let me take you out somewhere nice to eat,
Just nowhere with garlic or stakes;
Otherwise time and venue are of your choosing my dear,
As long as we're home before the day breaks.'
Other girls may have fallen for his charm,
But I'm really not that kind,
I'm not wooed by such textbook seductions
And I don't believe that love is blind.
Whilst he failed in his effort to commit a crime of passion,
His cape was so 1880 it was a crime against fashion
I rolled my eyes at the cliched old charmer's show
And replied 'Fangs for the offer, but I'm afraid it's a no.
Then I turned on my heels and said 'Your place or mine?'
To the far edgier offspring of Frankenstein



Although the piece above is the most fun and enjoyable thing that I've written this fortnight, I did also attempt another poem on the same theme with an effort to steer away from the standard rhyming conventions that I enjoy but which aren't always everyone's cup of tea.... This is the result as it currently stands; not 100% happy with this but here goes...


Friday Night

Strike once, strike twice, strike flame springs to life
Light bursts, flickers, dances
Across magnolia walls
One by one the candles lit
Paint romance by numbers, picture perfect
Proud magazine spread seduction
Turn on the soft music, arrange the gas station roses
Already beginning to wilt
A spritz of scent
Pillows plumped, chalices filled
I sit back and wait for you
On best crystal glass, fingers tap
Mark each second's passing
Minutes slowly tick by til the cup runs dry
Another hour, slower still; and the second heads the same way
I embrace familiar numbness, wax drips a scar on the floor
As they begin to burn out one by one
And when the music stops and
The last dance has clearly passed
I blow the night away; nothing left but smoke
And the darkness to which I retire
Who knows how long passes before I feel your warmth
Finally pressed, familiar but cold, to my side
And as your arm wraps round me, I am cut by the words I hear
'You could have made more effort my dear'

A couple of poems

I've not been writing much in the way of short stories recently -whether this is due to a lack of time, the absence of inspiration or sheer laziness isn't quite clear.... Probably a combination of all of the above.

I have however written a number of poems for writing group tasks - here's a couple which were inspired by the topics 'Before and After' and 'Invisible'.


BEFORE AND AFTER

Before
 
The sun shone down
In an illusion of summer
A cool coastal breeze caressing bare arms
Palm to palm, fingers fused
No words.

Silent communication
From smile to smile
Knowledge shared, perfect understanding
This is it, you, me, us
Forever.
 
Airplane trails in the sky
The distant sound of children’s laughter
A discordant ice cream symphony
Other lives, other worlds
Spinning round
 
But I am here with you
In this time, in this place
Cocooned in the safety of impenetrable belonging
In your certain presence
In your certain love
Nothing can touch me
 
After
 
As a handful of ash
Thrown to the wind
Questioning all I held true
Alone in thoughts I stumble through
Darkness
 
Where did it go
That faith once held
The certainty of the seasons
Rebirth, light, life; consumed by endless winter
 
Separate souls spiral
In opposite directions
No longer recognising myself
Through the fractured mirror
Mapped with cracks
 
The sun still shines down
An illusion of summer
The cruel April breeze stings as I see
Palm to palm, fingers fused
You and her



INVISIBLE

Futures mapped only upward
Or treading a steadfast linear path
Through a blinkered lens they do not see
The cracks in the pavement beneath

Or comprehend how easy it is to fall

To a place where neither routine nor ritual holds
The alarm clock without dominion
The night without comfort

Unseen, unrecognised

Hers is an inconsequential existence
Not observed, never documented
Days pass without words

On the town hall steps symmetrical smiles

Embrace the beginning of a journey
Wellwishers wave them off
To that uncertain destination

Unnoticed she glides between

Picks the confetti off the floor

Each scrap, each token placed
Into the crumpled carrier bag that swings from her arm
Next to yesterday’s news.