The Poet

The Poet

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Midnight Lady; A Poetry Exercise; April 18, 2017

 Hello friends and followers,
This is a very special post for me. There will be no guest poet's page this episode because, they are all here on the home page. Earlier this month I issued a challenge. It was answered and, answered in fine form. Said challenge is reprinted below. Please note that many of the poems, those marked with this symbol * were submitted without a title so, I created one, for purposes of this post only,  from words or phrases in the poem. Also; in some poems the poem formatted in such a way that even using the smallest print readable, the integrity of the original layout was lost. I posted them anyway because they were too good to leave out. Such poems are marked with the + symbol. Finally, there were many poetry forms used, from classic romantic to hip-hop. I was thinking "There's everything here except a Limerick"; I remedied that. Friends, sit back and enjoy!
Humbly Ron

Since April is (in the US at least) "Poetry Appreciation Month" I am offering an exercise for you all. Below is a poem I wrote a few months ago and it is posted below. The exercise I propose is as follows: take this poem, write an original poem on the theme and post it. Please use the Title as a line in the poem. try to (but not mandatory) incorporate the Image of "the dark lady"; magic/ occult/ spiritual reference and; the duality of human nature (both good and evil). I hope you have some fun with this and, I will post all submission on my poetry page this month, unless you ask that I do not. I hope you guys join me in this; you ARE my favorite writers. Use any style or form you choose. 

All Poems are the copyrighted intellectual property of the writers and protected under international and national copyright laws. Violate said rights and we WILL prosecute.

She wears midnight; she wears it well.
A veil of ebon shrouds her face,
lace trim outlines her jet black satin skirt.
Even the dirt at her feet sings praises
though hazes and mists rise from the ground;
Her footfall hushed- she passed unseen,
like fiend or wraith from a tale of horror.
Pale as alabaster; lovely as a night blooming flower
This is her hour, when all is dark and still;
She wanders where she covets; does what she will;
Weaves magic works - both charm and spell.
Heavenly hostess? Harbinger of hell?
None tongue can tell, obscured from sight,
neath dark new moon, she wears midnight.

Moth* by Scott Dean ©2017

moth drawn to neon
she wears midnight camouflage
to hide broken wings

Just So There'd Be A Limerick by Ron Porter

She wears midnight. Can you tell
if she comes from heaven or hell?
Deep night screams-
In noon day dreams.
Devils are merely angels that fell.

Beware* by Vasily Mikhailovich Doestovski ©2017

Laced with ghoulish grins,
the midnight she wears proudly.
Better beware for...

your pale heart she'll take leaving
you with gory gasping breaths.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Albatross* by Ann Carruth Donoghue ©2017

She is my lifetimes eclipse
my albatross ..unseen apocalypse
drowning pool and concrete boots
the rabid bite that poison's soul
or seeks to rob me of my reason
she wears midnight..
leaves me naked and trembling
screaming at shadows....

Where Kali Dances*+ by Nura Tarmann ©2017

She will meet you in that place between heaven and hell
There where Kali dances and removes her veil

At the moment of ignition when the feeling starts to flow
You will subtly and yet surely become of those who are in the know

Knowing that there are certain powers rarely spoken, rarely seen
That make things as they appear be so opposite of what they seem

There is a hidden beauty in the unlikeliest of forms
A perfection of some balance breaking all the common norms

She wears midnight on her body as if dressed in purest gold
Touching with her magic both the young and wizened old.

Above The Fray* by Jenifer Divine ©2017

yet even in the middle of a sunny day, she wears midnight, above the fray,

out of sight, out of mind, out of line, and that's alright- she wears midnight,

colors bare, senses harkening, devil's lair, what is coming, never known,

never shown, still ungrown, silent running, she wears midnight, thoughts are

stunning, hiding cunning, riding something, to the wind, stir again, her only 

friend, her self, that never ends... she wears midnight

Wild Sable Of Sorrows* by Bret Whitmore ©2017

She wears midnight; from whence who knows?
Such an angel she was in her youth.
Her loss so profound; spiked thorns from a rose,
Few ears can sustain her sad truth.
Where once ageless love did beat in her breast
Neither time nor dread storm could assail.
But a demon just laughed at its own befouled jest--
Took her love, claimed her child, left travail.
Death would not take her, though sorely she tried
While long decades ran down like her tears.
E'en fortune escaped her as memories died
And her visage it turned with the years.
Now black is her shadowless shape on the ledge
Where she wails ‘neath the moon’s pallid light.
Wild sable of sorrows, she shrieks from the edge
None can save her while she wears midnight.

No Mercy* by Brandon Hogan ©2017

She was midnight
As the morning broke

As if the sun
Needed a peek

Of how she left the night
So weak

No mercy
For the meager


Even less
For the eager

Leaving in her wake
Many a believer

Sore eyes
Tendered egos

She stands alone
A charmer of demons
Angelic in tone

In tune
Synonymous with
A New Years kiss
Midnight skinny dipping
In June

She wears midnight well

Sun up
Sun down
Tis merely a matter
Of one's own limitations

She glides
Like a haze
Like a jellyfish sways
Remains a sought after

For the rest of my days.....

Midnight Woman+ by Margaret B Poole ©2017

She's a midnight woman, she wears midnight, it shows on
Her painted face.

Don't follow her into the dark
shadows, they are her domain.
If you perchance see her as
Midnight grows nigh, turn away
Flee for your life.

If she sees you the time to flee
Has passed. You will never again pass through daylights door, the Midnight woman will own your soul forever more.

Yes you must follow the midnight woman, you cannot
Escape the scent of her sway.
You must leave the daylight, pass through the shadows of midnight, enter the darkness
That is hers where you will
Dwell forever, inside the woman
Of midnight who captures souls
To enhance her midnight spells.

Your midnight woman is
Greedy, she smiles as you cease to be daylights child
To become a whore of the darkness where she dwells.

At First Glimpse by Wanda Rodriguez+ ©2017

At first glimpse she appears to be frail and sweet as the most beautiful rose. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Dancing an exotic dance as she weaves and moves into your life,
you sway with her as the drums of death play, unknowingly being hypnotized by her swaying hips.

Her touch is the darkest of all voodoo's, you haven't the strength to move.
As you stand helplessly frozen she then shows her true form to you.

Fear pierces your heart that jolts your very soul as you stare into her black eyes of doom.

She wears midnight like a queen wears her majestic crown, her beauty you once saw, is now only destruction and chaos.

Tears well up and pour down your frozen face as you realize you're hopeless fate.

If only you could go back and turn the hands of time on that day of hurt and despair,
And choose truth and love, instead of lies and hate.

She Wore Midnight by Anthony Stevens ©2017

The priest droned on, with routine sadness.
Hurried clouds wept streams o'er colored glass.
Wrinkled and shrunken by time's cruel passing,
She was almost lost in the hard wood casing.

Distant thunder softly sounded, once, twice, thrice,
A fourth was louder, then repeat, even tones, nice.
Thunder? No! A hidden drumbeat. Rain like fabric moving
The priest offended while a mourner was half-smiling.

The half-sad husband tapped his fingers in drumbeat time.
His growling voice slowly rose in an ancient ryhme.
All present startled at the ringing sound of zills.
Short hairs rose on arms and necks. A draft chills.

All eyes wide at movement from between racks of dead blooms.
Smooth, youthful beauty, a whisp of silk, a girdle of coins,
Lithe muscles moving with erotic grace at the drum's soft beat.
Close thunderflash dismissed bright light. Left only candle's heat.

Glowing, smiling, dancing, writhing, she moved closer.
The old man, palsied hands drummed his knees, missed her.
She wore midnight as she knelt before him, he kissed her.
Harsh red emergency lights revealed a dead man, beside her bier.