(Collaborative Poetry) 

In the days when poetry

was all we had

misery was sweet.

Yearning was hidden in her thoughts;

and in the tarrying of retreat.

His lips used proper words –

his whispers spoke of delicious scandals.

In the night, her longing simmered in her dreams.

And with the resting of her eyes,

she could hear his voice break through the cracks of time:

M.F.

“A blindfold of forsaken moments lay bare and exposed. 

Twilight teasing – their tongues entwined – now whispers below,

With slender fingers that dance upon a stilted frame.

Nestling behind the hollow curve; the flowing fire is set aglow.

Taste the divine, as wave after wave, caresses the rocky shore –

Thrilling fibers breathe – time itself evaporates – upon that ancient rhyme.”

                                                                                                                 M.H.

A soft kiss of forgotten fables and,

waves of fury crashed up against her breasts.

But, when night settled in again,

his oath wrapped her hope, in the palm of his hand.

And as she stretched out time, he trickled her pain,

in a tale of a future, which may never come:

M.F.

“Outside my window, I see time hooded in uncertainty.

 I hear hope speak in broken whispers; He predicts an imminent calm!

The ashes of the storm would ride on the misty dawn.

Soon, the smell of hell will fade with the sun; and we’ll tell the tale of gone whirlwinds…caked blood and dead gods!

Ragged and panting like a spent bullet, I looked forward to a cease-fire;

 But she needed no recess – she wants me to keep firing!

She rode on yhe storm like a bomb wishing the tide won’t subside…

Out of the deep and limp, I lay in ashes of stewed passion;

And the wild princess waited for the Phoenix between my thighs to riae…again!”

                                                                                                              J.B.

By morning, she had returned home again.

Another sigh, before dawn, pinned her expectations down –

“Remember us . . . even for a day,” she heard herself say;

As Tennessee whispered:

“We have not long to love.”

And then – her lover turned her way, to claim her heart:

“. . . please let me stay, till there’s nothing more to say.”

                                                                                       M.F.

 

© Maria Fokas, Jide Badmus, and  Martin Hanley, 2014/All Rights Reserved