a cardboard-boxed wish,
labeled ‘undaunted’,
next to blood-red pumps,
long faded to rust (& ruin)
the old days —
when her heart still thundered
& the tip of her tongue
suffered no regrets
now
she wonders
if her lips
ever tasted like him.
___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade
one
faltering step
and individuality
escapes its confinement
the contents of her life
spilt
on pavement ~
a liquid, personal rainbow
for hungry eyes to judge
she hides
a sympathetic smile
and gathers up
her essence,
wetting
sterile ground.
___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade
day’s merciless rhythm
demands abandonment
of Cinderella’s Shoes.
come night,
to toddler’s squeals,
husband’s stained shirt
and dishwater-hands,
she surrenders
to Maybe
and takes comfort
in her fantastic escape.
___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade
ambushed ~
the rearing stallion
muscled; shining chrome,
takes her breath away;
leaves her
reduced to
stone
and clinging, shredded fabric
his knowing eyes
cross her mind, briefly ~
laughter lines, framing Blue;
while blood-red pumps
barely twitch
in
the
slowly
growing
blood-red rivulet.
___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade
so great – thank you, Stephen, for this totally unexpected, purely wonderful gift!
This is yet another response poem. I suppose I should get back to writing some “non-response” poems… but in a way, all poems are a response to something… aren’t they?
This poem is a response to Blend a poem by Miriam E. on Another Wandering Soul.
He found her heart
Crumpled
In a notebook
Discarded in the paper bag
Next to the windowsill
His pace quickened
Red lights going off in his head
As faltering fingers
Ran through unperturbed hair
Turning pages as he dared
His face a city of pain
She was gone
Stephen Kellogg – 2012
she had forgotten
her heart
on the windowsill
next to the crumpled
paper bag
that held a notebook
and his love.
as the light
turned red
she quickened her pace,
ran unperturbed fingers
through her faltering hair
and became
one
of the city’s
many faces.
___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade
(written by Vincenzo Francesco in response to the poem Escapade)
tried beyond strength
her pace now waning
gusts of wind
promising freedom
she averted the crowd
slipped out of time
into her timemachine
to recollect her thoughts
her small-town heart
torn in two
longing for what
seemed to elude her
the feigned kisses
the habitual lies
her eggshell existence
what did it all matter?
stung by the poison
of her own regrets
her own reproaches
her outright rebellion
___________________________________________
thank you very much, Vincenzo… wonderful work!
(written by YourOtherMotherHere in response to the poem Escapade)
blood-red pumps
tilt crookedly next to
blood-red drapes
where a pizza box of
blood-red checks
lies tossed on the floor by
blood-red hands
still twitching watched by
blood-red eyes
that gleam above
blood-red lips
smiling in anticipation of
blood-red leftovers.
I was thinking a vampire orders a pizza delivery the night before and almost drains the delivery guy who is so busy staring at her red pumps that he doesn’t have time to react. Now it’s almost time for her to go back to her coffin, but before she does, she’s going to have some leftovers.
All this because I like cold pizza for breakfast! (smiles)
______________________________________________________________
love what you have done here – thank you so much for participating!!
the walk of shame
drowns
in morning coffee;
Sweet’n Low
without sustenance
(self-esteem)
she whispers,
“I will extend the trip –
just one more day.”
into her husband’s static ear.
as the phone line dies
in her trembling fingers
she wonders
about the sudden
drop
in temperature.
____________________________
…. based on the poem Escapade
… the brilliance of my fellow bloggers Vincenzo Francesco and YourOtherMotherHere tempted me to try something new – and I am just too intrigued to let it slide.
I decided to create a new Category called ‘Storylines’. Based on the poem Escapade, I will let the original story unravel in different directions – it sounds like an interesting thing to do.
Maybe some of you will be as intrigued as I am to do this – I encourage you to join in the fun, take the original poem and let your mind wander. All of my follow-up poems to ‘Escapade’ will be found in the new category ‘Storylines’ – if you care to join me on this journey, feel free.
Thank you so much for the inspiration, guys! I am looking forward to discovering where this will lead…
the fueled hours
of morning’s infamy
burn white-hot
on early day’s cheek.
blood-red pumps
strike the pavement, hard;
hair in disarray,
and her lips
still taste like him.
Another Wandering Soul 