Clouds crawl like vines across the darkening
sky absorbing hues of a setting sun
retreating past a foreign horizon.
A lone woman stands beneath its growing
mass with head tilted back to see its forms.
The wind dances around her legs and soars
towards the majesty of the Lady
in the Moon. She envisions a brighter
world just beyond her senses and soft touch.
Ignoring temptation, she wanders home.
woman
#PicturePoetryPrompt: Gun Control
From North of the border,
I watch my American friends
suffer time and again.
A vicious cycle repeating.
Bullets fired from GUNS
are worth more than
LIVES
I hear again and again.
And yet there’s a growing chorus
Of voices.
Young
Old
Female
Male
Gay
Straight
Black
White.
They scream for CONTROL
United against a bigger threat.
They don’t want to hide
Afraid and alone
from angry people who take their rage
like tidal waves
and crash into innocents.
They want change.
Not to take all the GUNS away
But to restrict the types
Create stiffer rules.
What threat is this
to your freedoms,
My GUN owning friends?
They should be free
to feel SAFE
In a Grocery store
In a School
At a Concert
At a Hospital
At a Synagogue
At a Church
ANYWHERE.
But the NRA has friends
who view CONTROL
as an evil worse than plague
WHICH IT’S NOT.
When did your fellow Americans’ LIVES
come to mean so little?
I see this on my screens
In our papers.
As a Canadian,
I’m thankful for our GUN CONTROL.
I feel SAFE.
If only the change Americans need
would come on swift wings.
I wish you all could feel SAFE
On every day’s journeys.
You see,
I think no man, woman or child
should be afraid to leave their home
for fear of flying bullets
shot from vicious GUNS
hunting them down.
Wandering Woman
The bridge stood in splendour
Its moss free bricks
Clean and dutifully placed.
A lone woman wandered
through the forest sticks
In sturdy clothes, no lace.
Her light steps unheard
Her cloak left unseen
She approached the wooden gates.
Called to the armoured guard
Whose face was quite mean
Her fate now to wait.
She was shooed to the woods
To travel under her black hood
Taking her magic goods
Elsewhere.
#Demure
The battle rang with steel clashing against steel,
and the whistles of arrows meant to kill.
Yet there was a lone woman on the field,
surrounded by enemies.
Attired in light leather, she looked demure
even with a long sword clenched in her fists,
raised to her opponents.
A roar ripped through her and she charged.
She parried strike after strike
lashing out in studied motions
And sliced the men down in a blood rage.
It held its grip and she looked for another.
Another enemy to lay to waste.
Her sword was coated with gore
But did not dull her blade’s bite.
Glancing at her brothers-in-arms,
She saw their opponents drop.
One
By
One.
Until the shouts of retreat were heard
Filling the field in desperation.
They let the men run from them,
Tails tucked between their legs,
And they roared with victory.
She held her sword to the sky,
ignoring the blood covering her,
And watched the sun fall
setting aflame the field
In crimson.
Kember's Journey 