The Proposal. John Pettie, R.A. (1839-1893). Oil On Canvas, 1869.

Lover

I think a lover I may take.
No! Not a future husband make!
Alas the wedding cup, once filled
Was quickly drunk, or faster spilled.
A greater challenge lies ahead
For him that joins with me in bed.

The first heroic test’s complete
At laboured breath and tautened teat.
And then the second test, the kiss
Must needs induce a state of bliss.
That state of heavy melting hips,
Of swelling, tingling, pouting lips.

The third and final test will come
To many hopeful, fewer won.
Its bars are quickly memorized
And artful playing’s highly prized,
But only he will reign supreme
With variations on a theme.

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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Harbour

Fast

Will you be the gentle breeze
That twirls me round and round,
That tumbles me and turns my head,
And carries me to ground?

Will you be the blowing wind
That swells my sails once more,
That sends me scudding o’er the waves,
And bears me to the shore?

Will you be the achor weight
That falls and makes me fast,
That reaches through the murky depths,
And holds me safe at last?

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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Ghosts

Ghost

I am not a ghost, yet

Dismembered,

Dislocated,

Disembodied,

I have moved through time,

Indifferent,

Insensible,

Invisible.

.

.

.

© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Pool

Appetite

The truth of you will surface.
Of that I’m certain.

Just as I’m sure that, peering down,
I see myself reflected there.

Wisdom’s whispers admonish.
Touch the pool.

Her belly rumbles dark and hungry.
Appetite aroused.

© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Wreck

Lotus

From depths of mind I walked the shore,
Where broken ribs and jutting beam
Lay buried half in sand.

And there at waters edge, pristine
A lotus white had death defied,
From distant muddy depths it seemed
All wisdom, innocence combined.

Though tempted I continued on
And left the single flower there.

Then feast my soul!
A burst of blooms appeared.
Crowding every laden branch
Were lotus blossoms white,
A blaze of countless trumpets,
Each a gift,
To life!

© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

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Tea

The truth is like
A cup of tea.

Boiling water
Poured too soon
Embitters.

Wait a while.
Cooler now.
Then drench
The leaves.

Wait a while.
Cooler now.
Then sip,
Sip again.

Then the cup
Upturned,
The dregs
Reveals.

Wait a while.

Then wash
And dry the cup.

Wait a while.

© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

House Finches Kissing

Paris

Who’s that?
In his bright red coat,
She in her drab,
Enjoying the crisp
Fluffing in the cold.
Kissing furiously
Like couples
Of my
Imagined
Paris.

How lovely! Oh.
Oh!
Delightful!

They were
Only
Cleaning
Each other’s
Beaks.

© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Points of light

Dark

“Who’s there?”
She squeaked.
“I can hear you breathing”.

But there was no reply.

She groped the pitch
And found the tether,
Then the ring.

And wondered at its weight.

“I am.”
Said the dark,
Illuminating nothing.
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.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

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Spite

I have been told
I have
Two,
Or possibly, even
Three attributes
Some might
Find
Fulsome,
Handsome,
Buxsome,
Winsome.

In spite of this,
I have the capacity
To appear
Extremely
Unappealing.

It’s a skill.
.
.
.
.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

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Now

Except,
He did not turn back
For me.

And,
There is only
This day.
.
.
.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

image

Stranger

One day
I woke up
In a stranger’s
Body.

Something
Of a shock.
.
.
.
.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

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Loathing

She despised me
And, in doing so,
She despised her
Future self.
.
.
.
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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.

Seabed

Wrecked

I noticed you
And your eyes
And your shoes,
Slightly worn down,
At the heel,
And your hand,
Newly bereft of
A ring.

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© WhatHabit Co. and Words For Leaving, 2010 to 2015. All rights reserved.