for Magpie Tales, Prose Poetry, Writing

A Lover’s Salty Plee

La Jument, photo by Jean Guichard

The last memory I had was being on a boat sailing on a lovely canal,

with Christmas lights wrapped around the wooden rows.

I had to securely tape the power supply I made specially for this night.

I owe you one. I owe you this. You and me, just letting things be. 

The next thing I knew is that we’re in the middle of this angry ocean,

beating us like we spilled oil in one of its waters.

No boat was anchored meters away.

No airplanes that I hear of. How did we get here, my love?

If not for this rocky fortress, I would assume we were doomed —

Lungs filled with saltwater, our struggles we would eternally curse.

Remember though that for as long as we breathe the same salty air,

No wave is a maverick — ’cause we’d surf over them.

Tomorrow might be a nightmare. A future with a sink hole.

A Yolanda fiercer than ever. An oceanic beast.

Invincible, we may not be, but let our love shine to the Almighty

that He’ll calm all storms and let us be in paradise.

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for Magpie Tales, Writing

Magpie Modays: A Couch Too Big for One {Re-Post}

A Couch Too Big for One


The dame has been in this scenario for quite some time,

quite forlorn,

unbounded freedom,

mostly unaccompanied.

 

The space seems too vast for her fragility,

it eats her up,

too vexing,

breeds out a deafening monotony.

 

Casually, someone would sit for tea,

and she smiles,

elevated happiness,

and temporary highs.

 

In her mind, she grips his wrist,

tightly,

forcefully,

lovingly.

 

But, she snaps back to reality,

he went

and sat

on another red couch.

 

And she casually brushed her way to the couch’s middle,

sipped her tea,

inhaled deeply,

and bit her tea-stained lip.

 

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