A Pygmalion Girl #WeekendWritingPrompt

Why do that to yourself?

Play around with perfection,

even if it was only skin deep,

and the smoothness of these curves

turned your stomach at night,

when dusk settles its hands

either side of your hips,

presses into the grooves

where his tools worked you

into beauty.

Mounted you his sculpture

for all men to see.

Do you not appreciate how

his love made you

into a woman worth seeing?

To Town #WeekendWritingPrompt

She call them lollygagger,

adjusted the folds of her scarf,

let them watch her fingers

trace the sweep of her collarbone

like a wink

but not an invitation.


Clutched at the other hand

with smaller, damp digits

unsure eyes flickered from her

to the jackal-backed boys

circling their cigarettes,

tongues dragging across their teeth.


Nothing to be afraid of dear.




As Sure As The Orbit Of The Sun #DVerse

One of the men lifted his head

and looked at me

as we sloped past the ash fields,

and rows of toilers

like grey bamboo canes

if bamboo was stooped and bent

with brittle hands knuckle white

against the plastic handled hoes.


Her hands, smaller, firmer, sure,

came down on my shoulders

shadowed his face with fear.


An explanation in a classroom

pretending it isn’t an excuse

claims to be progress,

claims to be a new world

built on the broken bones

of the last.


Mothers scream during childbirth.

There is blood and pain

and sometimes



We are lucky we are not all toiling.

If the old world had their way

who knows what would have happened?

We are smarter these days

we can laugh at the facts

that shattered when the world changed.


Who know what will happen

at the next night rise.





A Little Later Than Dusk #WeekendWritingPrompt

Stung between garden fences

twilight coaxed you outside,

to the square of wilding lawn

uncut from summer’s end,

the coils of wood smoke

streaked with petrol

rising above an evening glow

of light behind closed panes

as one by one they too

flickered out.



Image by Giani Pralea from Pixabay

There Are Better Things I Could Have Used This Memory Space For #DVersePoets #PoeticsNight


It’s burnt into my memory

that open mouthed gape

swallowing my words,

and the back turned

mid-sentence on an answer

to a question you had asked

only for the slow spin,

arm triangled over your head

as you scratched your scalp,

and those frown scrunched nostrils

somehow still flared

in a state of confusion

when I refused to speak

to a man not facing me.



Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay