Dirty secrets hidden at the back
Where thigh tingling hems skimmed brown flesh
And sensual hands shifted silk over head
A red dress crumpled on a bed
Sensible knee length neighbours
Await open doors to the usual places
Jilted red dress remains in the dark
Hoping for some reignited spark
Escapes the inner confinements
Clinging to an old friend’s skin
Alluring scents of way back then
And the butterflies dance again
It’s difficult for me to comprehend the suffering of those who were in Grenfell Tower when the fire struck. There are now many questions needing answered. Reports are coming in describing what could have went wrong at Grenfell (the list is long). There are stories of Government officials ignoring safety advice in order to save money and cut corners.
They wanted pretty
Got kitchen sink gritty
Like a sore thumb
Hanging over them
Wrap it up, nicely hidden
Tinder tower white
Dangers lurk in sight
Warning: Some may find this distressing. I wrote this thinking of the tough times a friend had whilst growing up. I spend much of my time with children and wrap them up in cotton wool (take good care of them). Cannot understand why anyone could hurt a child.
The fork clatters on the floor;
footsteps coming through the door.
“Dropped again you foolish child!”
Clenched fist thumps right beside him.
Child freezes every limb.
Words tied up without release;
the waiting crowds’ smiles cease.
“Embarrassed me, silly fool!”
Hammer hand descents to cheek.
Brave face on, don’t be weak.
The bed sodden when he wakes.
Hairdryer on before he breaks.
“What the fuck, BABY boy?”
Shoved head first in yellow sheets.
Grabs her belt and then
In response to the daily prompt panicked.
To the tune of “Like a Rolling Stone”. Apologies to Dylan fans!
Many moons ago
you were all aglow.
Blanked the ones below.
You were in the know –
“watch out”, they said.
“We’ve got the dread
for what lies ahead
You teased and ridiculed
all the people
that you fooled.
Now you don’t
shine so bright;
now you hide
out of sight
scared of what they’ll think
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
You’ve lost your way,
a discarded stray
and your glow’s turned grey.
I doubt Bob Dylan would be impressed! On the up side I had a lot of fun writing it and managed to include yesterday’s word prompt grey (British spelling) 🙂
via Daily Prompt: Measure Don’t measure my age like circles in the tree. Life stutters and flies, neat circles aren’t me. Don’t judge my career by how high I climb. I’ve been sucked up and lost as work stole my time. Don’t measure success by the size of my pad. Square footage […]
She’s on her way on this fine day; whilst the sea advances – expecting dalliances. Her final drive; she’ll soon arrive. Pick a spot, set her free – on her dancing spree. A sudden gust; scattered stardust. Off she flies forever – unknown endeavour. My mother-in-law’s ashes were scattered on the beach today, […]