Archive | December, 2009

Honeysuckle Winter

27 Dec

Another 3-6-9 prose poem: three verses, 69  words each not counting headings.

Flickr Photo Download: Honeysuckle by wit

1. Dreaming

The thermometer reads 20 degrees F. I’m huddled on the couch under blankets and quilts. The old furnace wheezes and grunts to bring the room to a balmy 59. I’m dreaming summer evenings on a winter morning.

I dream the warm scents: spices, musks, summer florals. I dream the first scent
I recall, that magic perfume that rose with dusk, magnified on evening mist. A
fairy net to capture.

2. Deflowering

Only one scent could distract me from playing hide and seek with fireflies in the darkness, pulling me toward creamy petals, a cone shape that beckoned the tongue, made it twitch. A bulbous tip nodded proudly on the end of the stamen rooted in her velvet core. Honey suckle. The name begs. The name insists.

To suckle her honey, you must pluck the blossom, deflower, pinch the stamen’s base.

3. Tasting

You have to go gently, drag the shaft back through that tight tunnel. Your mouth waters. Your tongue is poised to catch. Nectar gathers around that fat head as it emerges. One glistening drop. Inhale perfume. Catch heaven on your tongue. So sweet. It drives the craving to pluck, slide, lick, repeat, into the depth of a summer night.

Innocence stolen from summer’s eve to warm a winter day.

Today’s prompt from Sunday Scribblings was: delicious. See what other Sunday Scribblers wrote.


When You Dare

20 Dec


I made a resolution at the start of the year, this year I would take the plunge and focus on submitting as many projects as I could to publishers. I dared to have faith in my creative vision. I set my heart on landing a contract before the year was over. I signed one last week for my novel, The Tiger’s Tale.

Dare to have faith in yourself.

This week’s Sunday Scribblings prompt was: Dare. Read what other Sunday Scribblers have dared here.

Friday 55: The Present

18 Dec

Flickr Photo Download: Christmas Present

The Present

Wrapped in glistening red
Its seams, plump folds pressed together
Something glittery winks from the ribbons
Releases seductive perfume
Whispers: open me, come play

Tiny corkscrew curls
Beg for the tug of fingers
My fingers itch to part those seams
Probe that pretty package

I won’t. Not yet.
I’m hoping someone beats me to it.

You’ll find other contributions to the Friday 55 on G-Man’s blog
He has a great post this week. Drop by for a look.