Monday, June 6, 2011

Posie & Mosey Mondays

A posie is a tiny flower bouquet typically given as a gift. In medieval times, they were carried or worn around the head or bodice to keep the bad smells away and the nose happy.

Well, that's kind of what poems are for me. Word posies: little bouquets of words that though smaller than novels, keep my inner reader happy with powerful sensory and emotive cues.

On Mondays, I like to share these word posies with my readers. Comments are disabled so you can enjoy the gift of poetry then mosey on along to your list of daily do's.*

Please drop back by on Wednesday, my interactive blogging day of the week. Until then, have a lovely and productive Monday and Tuesday.

*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any or all of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar. ;)

 A Writer’s Reflection
~Tina Gray

This face in the mirror is beckoning me-
Luring me into her world;
An escape from this barren reality
Giving breath to my poetic sword.
She seduces my heart with her enchanted words,
And summons my soul to her lair;
Where hypnotic nuances entice my dreams
And compel me to wait for her there.

I cannot resist a lark so divine,
As my spirit has need to renew;
So mounted on currents of moonbeams we ride
To this place where sweet madness ensues…

And we waltz with wild flowers encircling a flame,
Keeping time with the pulse of the sea;
And seek our reflection in droplets of rain,
Against shimmering backdrops of leaves.
We drink dewy moon-beads and eat golden stars,
As we slide down the evenfall trees;
And sing with the dulcets of warbling larks,
Taking flight upon gossamer wings.

We live as ghost shadows atop pebbled walls,
And converse with the babbling stream;
Then rise into heavens painted with clouds,
Reaching port in their netherworld scene.

Once I’m returned to my common world vale-
My vision still roused from the sights…
I fervently script each vivid detail
And seek my repose for the night.

Yet still she haunts me, even in sleep…
She’s bidding me back to her cove;
Promising more of these visions she keeps
In her realm where illusions unfold.

Dare I pay heed to her fanciful verse?
Dare I reopen this door?
For I fear if I linger on this phantom path,

I'll renounce what is real evermore.

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