Sister to Storm to Dirt to Flame

“…in war, love and Stories things are rarely what they seem.” ~ Thorn in Red

I was Sister to Storm to Dirt to Flame
before she,
who claimed to have chosen me as her own,
fancied glitter could glamour
the broken spine of usurped energy.

Stagnant through time and Realms,
the twinkling twit
has met not the wisdom that feeds
the babes in evolution’s belly;

a witch in touch
with the Nature who made her
would never pretend…

or believe a rogue made of her magic
could shoot arrows through my blood

and keep her own eyes.


My soul ached for flesh,

but I didn’t eat my own shoes:
the innocent should never be digested.

No rules of cast
over the guarding of my walls
and blood.

She sent her magic-ripen creation
to end mine,
knowing energy can’t be destroyed.
But it can be changed.

I wound my essence around the shape of her Archer;
I summoned air, called on earth, welcomed the fire
that seals flesh to soul and Crafts stories.
I pushed from under a house of lies and with open eyes,
I rebirthed my Self anew.

for NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 11 – I Hear Fictional Poets: Create a poem written from the point of view of a fictional character. Do cite the work where the character appears. That way, we can wink at her, him, it… if we wish to.

and for Oma Linda’s Shadows of Oz
Haven’t joined the party? Why not? Oma Linda has cookies!
(And flying monkeys, I’ve heard)

Rebirth, by Patricia Ariel“Rebirth”, by Patricia Ariel

I Hear Fictional Poets

We are one third of the way there, my Wicked Luvs, can you believe it? Incredulity is filling me, too. I feel like I have already shared at least 73.6 poems. Seriously; I am collecting more and more justification for my personal rule of not blogging every day (which I obviously broke for this event). I’m proud of you and of me, too, for I know how much work this is. Deliciously satisfying work, though…

For Day 11 of NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Create a poem written from the point of view of a fictional character. Do cite the work where the character appears. That way, we can wink at her, him, it… if we wish to.


* Leave a link to your poem, as a comment. Include the title of your entry, and the direct link to your post. Example: “NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015”: Visit other Wicked Darlings and comment on their yum. They might visit you back (it’s polite).

* If you use this prompt, please link it to your post. And if you are feeling extra delicious, link your poem to the main entry. Show others where to go. Spread the word. Linking back to the source will keep you free of flying monkeys… little dogs, too.

I Hear Fictional Poets

His Fingers Play Their Magic into My Flesh

Fingers spread,
hands flat against the mattress,
hips moving slightly, up and down
up and down—searching
for the spot
where relief is almost, almost, almost…

A fractious moan feeds on the heat
gathered in my hip,
and flies out of my lips
into his ear.

Without speaking, he grabs “the good oil”
and straddles the back of my thighs;
he cradles my hips with his legs
and with strong fingers starts playing
familiar keys on my back,


“A bit to the left.”

“Right here?”

“Yes, but harder.”

“Like this?”


His fingers find the inflamed spot
and play
their magic into my flesh.

My lower back
drinks the comfort of his touch,
welcomes relief
that warms each muscle,
and soothes me
near pain-less
to the bone.

Process Note: When my chronic pain began to worsen, about 18 months ago, my Piano Man began the ritual of rubbing my back night before bed. His hands, his love, his patience and generous amounts of “the good oil” are my best and most welcome form of fast relief. This poem describes our nightly dance… Well, some of our dance; the other parts might be suited for a rather racier blog *cough*.

NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, Day 10 – Poetry for the Blood, Flesh, Bone and Spirit: Our poems should read like a relaxation chant… unwind us to the bone.

His Fingers Play Their Magic on Me