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Creative energy honed the spirit of fire,
a product of thought with a bottomless desire.
Raw brilliance without payment of gold,
where mortal words touch a currency of old.
Except for the price of an innocent soul,
creatures of the mind, creating a whole.

The depth of thought troubled by nil,
just a poor humble man with uncontaminated will.
His urge to produce an obra maestra,
forced by the ghost of a Juan Luna.
Eternity marked by his sharp Spanish sword,
the works of this poet, his dignity, his words.

Rising on a rough canvass of white and blue,
a bird of hope stretched its wings into view.

Photo courtesy of  Nats Dalanao

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I didn’t think it was the rain,
that started trouble yesterday.
It’s the bleak sound of pain,
that blew my mind away.

A bliss of the past with no woes no tears,
but a blinding flash of flame.
No it wasn’t the rain nor thundering gears,
but the fault of an unforgivable fame.

Each day mourned a glimpse of fate,
unfinished and waisted.
A foreign night of gloom and berate,
tattooed a memory cold and acrid.

Cradled in a shower of icy dews,
unnatural break from a mundane routine.
Of uncaring shoulders, unsettling news.
Blaming on the night it rained terpene.

No more rain to blame, not a shameful note,
gloomy skies at last withdrew.
Drama and anger with a hateful stroke,
a day of light, this rain never knew.

Photo courtesy of  Frerieke

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Playing possum on a bed.
No movements, no senses – dead.
The world stood fervently still,
for the body lay deeply ill.

An attack in the fragile brain.
Where a block or a leak remained.
No responses to signal life,
only a shallow breath and a weak sigh.

Pupils fixed and dilated,
no words uttered, no life generated.
Midnight fell utterly dark,
mourners awaited without remarks.

The modern talisman came hurriedly,
he used medicine and futuristic technology.
It was the blink of the poor man that signaled -
life. Sluggishly returned to normal.?

Photo courtesy of LadyDragonflyCC

(Inspired by the challenge: Where the wild things are)

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A narrow street leads to a neon sign,
where curious souls venture.
Into a dark and secluded line,
these hungry wolves commit pleasure.

Strangers intoxicated with inner fires
drift amidst fumes of lustful scent.
Music pounding within a room of desire,
undressing tired souls to content.

Flashes of colors burn the night,
with passionate sways of conjoined hips.
A foreplay staged in a wild dance ignite,
sweat, heat, and emotions flipped.

Thanks to the  Paintings of Queensland artist Pauline Adair for providing the painting at the latest artist challenge; Where the Wild Things are

Photo courtesy of Pinksherbet

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Love buzzed by the window,
a fragile little thing that echoed.
A mere fly shaped like a heart
outside, a kangaroo raced – a start!

Red letters peeped out of its pouch,
leaped into the window with an “Ouch!”
The fly hovered on top of the letters,
circled with its tiny snicker.

I woke up and shouted “luv,”
my brain misspelled the word above.
A private message in my mind,
falling under a spell, left behind.