albino 3

Memories flung into a harvest time bonfire, an immaculate enforcement of shameless remorse

Reconciliation is but transparent breathing space, twixt hostilities estranged lovers endorse

The waning moon, her closest confidant, the ubiquitous sun her silent nemesis

On a ‘seen better day’s’ hopeless mattress, she favours his sex, not his kiss

The albino girl wearing just one earing, a mere name tag bearing her onetime address

Astride him she rides out the storm of entanglement, dazed violet eyes indisposed to obsess

Picking out a dirge on his wilting heart strings, a heretofore courtly love blasé troubadour

A stock refrain, a pretty poor anthem, for a battle won, though she cares not for the war

She holds the key that locks in his tainted passion, the whitest smile that undoes his cold heart

Recycles confetti for next year’s rainy day wedding, leaving big man, big ego torn apart

(a muse upon a new character; she, who has breezed uninvited into a tale I am endeavouring to pen presently)



36 thoughts on “DAZED VIOLET EYES

    1. An accolade for which I am grateful. Background to this is my insomnia. I am not a natural writer of books, yet wish to pen a hopefully worthy one before I snuff it! Nearly midway through the book thing the young lady this muse in verse is based on appeared out of nowhere at around 2am this very day. Had to write it down like this so as to have a clearer snap of her in my head as I add further words to the book!

  1. Intriguing, Mike, and steamy! I love this idea of a muse coming to visit the writer. I happen to be reading a novel by John Fowles (of French Lieutenant’s Woman fame) called Mantissa that I think you would really enjoy. The whole novel is a conversation between an author and his evolving female character, sometimes naughty, sometimes mythical. It’s out of print now I think but I got my last copy from Amazon. I think this is the third time I have read it and each time it seems richer. This poem is inspirational. I can’t wait to see her in prose.

    1. LuAnne you refer to one of my most favourite books of all time. Haven’t read it for years yet it sits pride of place on my bookshelves in mint condition (along with everything Mr Fowles, late of Lyme Regis ever wrote – The Magus is a gem by the way, but guess you know that already). Indeed re The French Lieutenant’s Women the cover of my book, ‘Gentlemen Prefer a Pulse’ has my wife on the Cob at Lyme Regis as was the gal on the movie poster made of said book. My sincere thanks you read this piece. Best of good fortune be on you.

      1. So good to meet someone who knows that book – you are the first one I’ve met. I am half way through this reading. My husband loves me reading this one – puts me in a good mood – I know you know what I mean. 😉

      2. My wife reads 3 books a week – sometimes I think she has read every book ever written – so I do know what you mean. The Glass Room by Simon Mawer may be worth a follow up yet that is me throwing in the subjective.

    1. I think I may be on the cusp of doing that very same thing Leslie. God my brain hurts…referendum result tomorrow will hopefully kill my insomnia (5 hours sleep in last 4 days; feel totally drunk but haven’t had a drink etc.) and I’ll get my sense of humour back…or not, depending upon the result…plus bloody Trump is in Scotland the next day!

    1. Thank you Jean Lees…see I didn’t nick it from you, honest. Have a fine day…my nation has turned racist overnight so sadly my day will be somewhat fraught.

      1. It is a strange world we live in…times of change and worry. Things would be better if I could remember where I left my wretched time machine though!

      2. Did they not tell you I’m a time traveller? I may but 112 years yet in reality I am several thousand years old. Thanks for the heads up on the spare flux thingy, appreciated…heads off to the balcony, telescope in hand, cup of Darjeeling at the ready to seek out the crucial time machine.

      1. Just my luck Ms S. 3AM, asleep for the first time in yonks. What happens? Battery on the smoke detector runs low…bleep, bleep etc. Shirl hit it with my trusty club hammer yet by then the damage to my sleep had been done!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s