slingshots

though sticks and stones may break your bones

hateful words are cruelly perverse

they fly through the air like arrow heads

and can injure you even worse

no armour exists that will stop the hurt

as they splinter into your heart

no salve has been made to ease the pain

as their meaning rips you apart

with hindsight you’ll suffer again and again

reliving them in your mind

but though memories fade the injuries made  

are not of the healing kind

so it’s silly to charm and say words cannot harm

they can scar you even worse

than those sticks and stones which may break your bones

but don’t stay in your mind like a curse

iamb stew

She thought that it would cramp her style
to write in such a way
– to think in quatrains all the while
would surely spoil her day?

‘Free-flowing stuff’, she’s heard to sigh,
‘would be a waste of time’,
to meet the brief she’d have to try
to get her ode to rhyme.

She finds that it is not much fun
to wrack her puny brain
when counting iambs one by one
to make up each quatrain.

She’s got more guts than she’s aware,
nothing’s gonna beat her,
she knows that judgment will be fair
–  it’s just a case of meter …..

——————————————————————————————————–

NOTES
quatrain – a stanza of four lines, especially one having alternate rhymes

iamb  –  a metrical foot consisting of one short (or unstressed) syllable followed by one long (or stressed) syllable

The ball gown

the girl in the mirror stands high on tip-toe

she arches her back as she’s tying the bow

at the back of the dress, then starts doing a twirl

turning this way and that, the skirts billow and swirl

 

such a beautiful dress, it belonged to her mother

so carefully kept and loved as no other

the girl closes her eyes and imagines the dance

in the arms of a lover, the start of romance

 

moving daintily now as she hums out the tune

she goes twirling and swirling around the bedroom

nobody to watch yet she waltzes with grace

and just for a moment she’s there in her place

Simply Delish!

oh berries bright, what joy you bring
with ripening fruit at end of spring
your flavour seems a wondrous thing
you are the king, you are the king

they shelter under leaves of green
I find and pick them hid within   
then juices sweet as nectarine
run down my chin, run down my chin

this summer fruit is tops you see
for colour, taste and symmetry,
lush strawberries with cream for tea
– delish for me, delish for me

nightmare

it bellows forth and tugs her hair
she falters on the muddy track
its fury howling through the air
sheer terror stops her turning back

she falters on the muddy track
the black wind hides which way to go
sheer terror stops her turning back
she hears waves crashing far below

the black wind hides which way to go
no moon, no light of any kind
she hears waves crashing far below
and now must walk as if she’s blind

no moon no light of any kind
she weeps to be in such a place
and now must walk as if she’s blind
rain lashing harsh across her face

she weeps to be in such a place
no friendly sound or call or bark
rain lashing harsh across her face
hands clawing in the whirling dark

no friendly sound or call or bark
its fury howling through the air
hands clawing in the whirling dark
it bellows forth and tugs her hair