Call it escapism
Or call it empowerment
Whatever works best
After the third glass
My political leanings
Became slightly vague
Give me liberty
Or pour me a deep merlot
Full bodied freedom
Category: Haiku
Feminism in Action
He told her to smile
“You look so much prettier”
She stuck out her tongue.
Don’t cut your hair, girl
You don’t want to look too butch
She shaved it all off.
Just a little kiss…
He touched her against her will
She rescued herself.
Imagery Exercise
Catching my own breath
Chasing it down winding halls
An elusive sprite
Sinking to new lows
Blocks tied to tender ankles
Chafed from submission
Climbing to grand heights
Achieving an inner peace
In rarified air
Postcards
Too many small towns
I forget where we first met
Dumas? New Salem?
I’m a vagabond
Allergic to planting roots
Always struck restless.
Keep a bag ready,
Grand adventures beckoning
I’ll send a postcard.
The House
A lifetime ago
a summer rendezvous here
when the house was whole
I’d escaped my life
you’d made all the arrangements
uninterrupted.
Those days forgotten
or merely sweet memories
of crisp linen love.
Stumped
I knew the answer
Right on the tip of my brain
When in doubt, picked C
Tests aren’t for wussies
Open book, a blatant trap
Trust your own judgement.
I’ve been stumped before,
No answers to the questions
Conjecture, my friend
Apologies
The paper, blurry.
Angry marks on a white space;
Ill-defined slashes
Emotions stripped bare
From teary accusations
And gut clenching guilt.
Insistent regret,
Sorry, so insufficient
Apologies fail.
Woman
Maker of the bed
Keeper of stolen secrets
Woman of few regrets.
In the wee small hours,
Clichèd as it might appear
Her conscience is clear.
Affairs in order
Assignations underway
She sleeps, unconcerned.
All That Remains
He was alive once
Had friends, influenced people
Now just memories.
Caught the odd virus
Strangled in his own vomit
Died in agony.
But that odd moment
Between life’s light and death’s throes
He found peace at last.
Harvest
Harvest
by Leslie Noyes
Fall sun brandishes
Her autumn hued wand, alight
In burnished bracken.
Gather for harvest
Wielding scythes in rhythmic strains;
A song of plenty.
Most luscious bounty,
Gifts wrested from verdant fields
Labor’s sweet reward.
Praying for Eyebrowz 