Blue Jeans

She wore the blue jeans today,
It was October, I hadn't the pants on her
since last May.
She just walked by jeans riding her hips
It was cold, naked to the waist, a sly smile
hugging her red lips.
She held her bare breasts
the sunlight through windows
warm on my chest
Ride me, I suddenly said, ride me
until the sun sets in the sky
until my lips crack and turn red
Love me, she whispered back
her knees tight in the denim
the line of her butt pressing the
fabric taut
my words in lust captured mid-murmur
my heart caught.

Murder of Crows

It's a Murder of Crows that gather on her grave

I come here often my soul to save, should she

return perhaps she will forgive my sins as I

continue to live. I met her in the fall of 69

I was young, she was fine. She stared at me,

her raven hair black as night, her eyes red ready 

to question her thin-lipped smile a gash across 

her pale skin, her nose shaped like a bleak beak

She whispered only should she speak.

The Congress of her behavior, the shattering of

her cries, a hundred black birds flying, a nursery

rhyme about a bitter pan of humble pie.

I  read her the verses quothing Poe dreary

forlorn, I held her cold hands in the cold snow

I sung the dirge full of contemptuous woe

I promised to leave her, I even tried to go.

I walked her casket out of the gray morn

I curse under my breath, I cursed the day she

was born. I held her throat in my old hands

I swore that I loved her, I pleaded her ghost

to understand, I took her to wife, I held her

closer still before she took her life.

Halloween, A Year later.

“Graveyard Girls” Kyle Thompson & Marissa Bolen

I did not stop writing Poetry.

I write it actively on Twitter than share it to my Facebook Page.

It's ironic to find my last published Poem here is from October 8th, 2018.

There were Three

Three Witches dance in the fields of the dead

beneath the Huntress Moon

Three Hags cackle with the midnight delight

over a cauldron of truth

filled with the virginal bits

of hapless youth

Three girls will rise up like banshees

singing their haunting tune

Once there were more

Once there had been four

but she had run off with a rope

up to the hanging tree

Now she swings in tune

with her sister's terrible croon

beneath the yellow auspices

of the Huntress Moon.