Mimi-Mona Poetry: A Tale for Halloween

©A Tale for Halloween

Mimi Wolske

October 2010

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

I

Who Is This Child?

Wind moans; eagles scream

Trees bark and crawlies dream

The moon laughs as other worldleys prowl

Coyotes listen as wolves howl

Human souls, deer, and rabbits all run

The sun hides from midnight's shun

Gaps close and nightmares grow

Shadows flock to watch the show

And then, from the night--a silhouette's empty eyes--a golden-haired child! Noise stops and frolickers mild

Mystery settles, a fog in the air

The surplus of joy is now hardly there

The air stills--stops every breeze

Animals, wind, and shadows all freeze

Who is this girl, this delicate child with eyes devoid, so hauntingly wild?

And why is she here, roaming the night without even a flitter, a shiver of fright? this girl, this child,

Should be home and in bed

Innocent tears should stain her eyes red

She should flee from the trees and glowing eyes

She should dart and dash from the critters' loud cries

But she stands like an omen, silent and tall

And the trees hardly move--not a leaf dares to fall

All is silent and still, not a flicker of life

Vacant eyes slice the scene, sharp as a knife

Then a soft little noise sifts through the air

It chills the mood by just being there

And a child's innocent giggle turns to a laugh—

It grows to a scream and that's only half!

The sun hits the dark, an explosion of light

And a delicate child runs out of sight,

A grayish-faced child with eyes of the night;

She darts and she dashes, devoid of all fright.

II

The Child Grows 

Sea sobs, ululates

Rocks groan as a fish stagnates

Ebon clouds gather to prepare for night

While bird and beast cowl with affright

Mortal hearts pounding with fainting spirits

Far away from Death’s caskets

Gaps open terrifying

The penumbra converging

Suddenly she’s seen--the silhouette with eyes of void—

Golden-haired child no longer, a pale covering—sarcoid

Hair like a mystery down her spine

She gazes pass nonexistent moon shine

The air swirls—creates a breeze

Animals, wind, and shadows all freeze

Who is this young woman, this fragile girl who grows with the night, who’s no longer a child?

And what’s that with her, sitting the night without even a flitter or shiver of fright? Is this some wiled,

Some trick or perhaps ruse?

Culpable partner? And what will effuse?

She remains, staring at the cold sea

She should depart, appear to be more chastely

But she sits and what is it she will presage?

Who will understand her or her devil’s language?

All is silent and still, not a flicker of life

Vacant eyes slice the scene, sharp as a knife

Then a soft little noise sifts through the air

It chills the mood by just being there

A woman's amiable laugh that turns to weeping—

It grows to a cry; what’s she reaping!?

The moon strikes the clouds, an expression of light

And the fragile young girl vanishes from sight,

A grayish-faced woman with eyes of night;

She is coming for you at half past twilight.

III

Don’t Look 

Drooly, gooly sounds

The antithesis confounds

Pounding shapes louder than eternal dark

Under the dead moon disembark

Sinister beings and dripping ghouls

Blanketed with jewels

From a different chamber

Seeking those who dare wander

Is it a wonder, is it a surprise

That against the malformed ebony is where she lies

This child, girl, woman with devoid eyes

Skin so pale and hair so dark—beware,

Beware—don’t look lest your vision she impair

Ominous trouble, threatening evil, presaging menace, from a distance her beauty belies

The mesmerizing, hypnotizing attraction that holds one’s interest on her fateful disguise

When cast under her spell

You forget to look under your bed…hell

Is the home to her and her inky kind

And she’s waiting for you if you’re inclined

Around the corner, behind the skinned tree

Sinister beings and dripping ghouls wait patiently

All is silent and still, not a flicker of life

Vacant eyes slice the scene, sharp as a knife

Then a soft little noise sifts through the air

It chills the mood by just being there

A child’s giggle, a woman’s laugh—it’s you she seeks

Chills spill down your spine; laugh transforms to shrieks

A deeper black dots the sky, they fly to her side

They’re coming for you…it’s half past evening tide

Run! Run fast as you dare into the lightless

Depths of disparaging gloom; there’s no success

IV

Xenobia Beasts through the Umbra Come

Xenobia beasts

Through the umbra come, and priests,

Untenable souls, make the ravens cringe

Bloodless, undead monsters impinge

On the living—they’re not so choosey—

Doomed to wander endlessly

Hideous solanine lives

Darker is she who deprives

Down by the salley sanguinaria

The pallor’s gone from the living dead with no pneuma

Behind the veil of time she watches

And any who dares to look at her blanches

With terror and will be in need of a requiem

Close your eyes tight, dare you not to gaze upon her, the aging child, girl, woman who needs your lifeblood

No longer a child, departed is the being sublime, the woman who follows is one who is rotted

Touched by her boney hand

Your life will be hers just as she had planned

Crawl under floorboards, hide in the attic

Run little one, you must not be frantic

Obsessive devotion in its black sight

Her raven will find you before midnight

When all is silent and still, not a flicker of life,

Vacant eyes slice the scene, sharp as a knife

Then a horrible noise cuts through the air

It chills the mood by just being there

It’s no longer a child’s game, she’s come for you

Hold your breath, hide your face, she doth pursue

The empty clock beats faster than your heartbeat

You waited too long, no time left to retreat

She’s taken your father and your dear, sweet mum

Hear how she calls you? Hear her necro-hum?

V

Across the Edge of Unmarked Time 

A grave in the blackness

She’s left feeling anxious

With nothing only scaly bones under

The earth, whispery voice a blur

Not quite heard; indistinct from night

And hiding from the daylight

The sun begins to smile

Shadows fade, they’ve lost their wile

And then, feigning night—a silhouette's empty eyes—the woman becomes child!

Ghoulies’ voices once reviled

Are quiet once again; fog flees the air

Still the surplus of joy is hardly there

She’s left behind sadness and death

She inhales once more her last breath

This woman, this girl, now a child returns to inner depths for another year

You know why she was here roaming the night without even a flitter, a shiver of fright, so do not jeer

The penumbra departs

But something still exists, perverse it thwarts

Passing across the edge of unmarked time

When foul monsters return once more to begrime

And she’ll stand like an omen, silent and tall

And trees will hardly move—leaves will not dare to fall

All will be silent, still without a flicker of life

Vacant eyes will slice the peace sharp as a knife

And a soft little noise will sift through air

To chill the mood by just being there

And you, my innocent little one, have not escaped

The things in the night have merely reshaped

The grayish-faced child with eyes of the night

Who darts and who dashes, devoid of all fright,

Has not departed, she’s not through

Be afraid! Next year she’s coming for YOU!

Mimi-Mona Romantic Poetry: The Goodbye Kiss

©THE GOODBYE KISS

Mimi Wolske, October 2014

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Crying

we—in total grips of despair

each—alone in Paradise

reluctant after a long, difficult discussion

you to sleep in your car

me to fly away home

bags packed

feeling something never felt before

never in our lives

giving

in—we kiss goodbye

fear—epic and uncontrollable

tears in our eyes, we're about to go our separate ways

Suddenly

constant flow of fear

plaguing us for the last hours

like a kink in the garden hose

races with every pulse

strong pressure builds

raging terror

vacation's end

Waiting

bags packed and

steps—a few taken forward

unknowing—can I do it

will you let me

highly aware of your fear

will she do it

can I stop her

is this the beginning

the start of something bad

the dangerous downward spiral

of not facing up to our fears

of having to turn it into something else

of losing the someone we each love

Creeping

returning—the fear we felt

reality—we will be apart

a series of ledges and cliffs

I cry out

I have agoraphobia!

Turning

you run toward me

embrace me...tightly

I'll never let you go, you cry

I'll never leave you, I sob

Kissing

we—the sweetest promise

MIMI-MONA Love Poetry: Love May Be A Paradigm, My Love Is Not

©Love May Be A Paradigm, My Love Is Not

Mimi Wolske, October 2014

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Yes; I danced to the sounds of a different drum;

I've been mistaken and confused so many times.

Then you strolled into my world, you made things hum,

And you named my uniqueness using paradigms.

The warmth of your hugs melt my heart like a stripling

and I find purpose...it is to please only you;

all thoughts of disappointing you seem crippling

but use of inflected forms must discontinue.

I'm not a stereotypical example;

I'm not a general conception, a given

Enquiry cannot be undertaken—how dull!

I'm the lover whose devotion can't be riven.

With your presence, I've an acute wish to achieve;

I can do things now I once would never believe.

love isn't love until you give it away they say, even through a tongue-in-cheek love sonnet :)

Mimi-Mona Erotic Poetry: Come Back To Bed

©Come Back To Bed

Mona Arizona, October 2014

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

  

There you stand in the doorway

smiling at me like nothing happened

come back to bed

come bother me

There you go putting me first

you speak my name, say it again

come back to bed

come bother me

There it is so obvious

there is no antidote for us

come back to bed

come bother me

There can be no compromise

if you want inside more than my head

come back to bed

come bother me

There are those oblivious

to the secretive winks that we share

come back to bed

come bother me

There is your invitation

can you feel that there's no place like home

come back to bed

come bother me

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Never Concede

©Never Concede

Mimi Wolske

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

  

One flip flop,

discarded, lost,

defiant, in the sand

near the water, like a

recycled-Ipanema-

sandal-made-

famous-by-the-

seductively- blissful-

bossa-nova-rhythms-

from-the-1960s

casualty of a

manufactured battle,

points its open toe

towards concession

Mimi-Mona Poetry: escapee she terror

_©escapee she terror

Mimi Wolske

fled the noise—escapee she;

shadows; some imbecile

to rubble; flee she

an escapee not; would society. think?

she needed get undetected.

she. Flee? alien think? she

drinks, Helmet appears informs he

backs the actress; Mona he

sleeps… Mona appears wanting, has

his coffee. Helmet appears door,

then wants returned. Mother.

come actress coffee. Mona to him

at every hour. he was monster

a drunken rage; terrorized she convinced,

a drunken haze; friends once now

convinced was and once her and

every marriage nightmare.

A Dada Poem

Mimi-Mona Poetry: No Alibi

©No Alibi

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

It is never ending: it begins, it exists.

I have no alibi...I stole your heart

with lines written across your chest and

words drawn on your sated back...

It's the difference between being and been

you said this and I want to believe

that those who hurt us won't last

those who love us will

Love is like bindweeds

wrapping around itself

strengthening, burgeoning,

blossoming, existing, never ending

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Quid Pro Quo

©Quid Pro Quo

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

  

Maybe I have law enforcement genes;

I can't walk passed a bakery

without drooling (read: buying) donuts.

There are red marks on my waist.

I've become the kink,

discombobulated,

in the chain of sidewalk fashion

with their flowing dresses,

rolling briefcases, and

good posture and leanness.

My pants are too tight.

It's only ten pounds,

people say in soothing, melodic tones

while whispering behind my back

and laughing: Ohmygod! Twenty pounds! At least!

Skinny jeans and tight T-shirts come in packs;

don't judge me! I prefer my chocolate extra dark.

Bag of groceries splits from the weight;

brie and cream pies and sweet rolls spill;

I trip on the curb rushing to gather them up

as a handsome, expensive suit turns the corner,

turns into me. We both jump apart;

he with athletic ease and grace;

me like a shoved, dressed hog

precariously balanced on one foot.

I contaminate his expensive press job

with my bulging blue jeans

and my rumpled, oversized sweater.

He offers me a lethal smile;

I proffer him a sweet roll—

quid pro quo.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: I Knew That

                                            ©I Knew That

                               Mimi Wolske

                                         October 2014

By winter, will she have forgotten my hair is white now?

I forgot her birthday

                                    Again.

Late is okay she said.

Funny how guilt works like a roadmap

Where all the cities are sleep...or less.

And the car I was driving caught on fire

I'd like to say;

But that'd be dramatic,

                                    That'd be hyperbole.

Am I not too old for that? I'm too old for some things.

I have become an origami version of myself...

Still mobile but a lot stiffer in the joints.

Loneliness cannot be cured by recognizing it;

I know that.

In a vague sense, I also know

I'm totally open to that being false.

Hey, if you don't want to die in a metaphor,

You can't live in a metaphor.

Why is it the moon refuses to take my midnight calls?

What? You expected a reward for not softening

In the arms of women you do not care about?

It's answering machine says on Monday.

                                    Tuesday: You get nothing for nothing.

By Wednesday you're ready to throw your phones

Off the top of Mount Columbia,

                                    And pray for ice,

But, with her, this could be the sort of life

Where things get smoothed over,

And you know that.

Dammit! I knew that, too.

I knew that like I know how to pant and gasp

In the middle of the morning

With the winter sun freezing my skin like caught salmon.

And so I start again.

A big part of my heart belongs to her, in Arizona,

                                    And it's like I am made of lungs

Hyperventilating to share the same air

And to meditate on her.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Afternoon Delight

©Afternoon Delight

Mimi Wolske

October 2014

There's a war

inside me

and I don't know whether I'm winning or losing

Your love is

a virus

drawn to me like a lodestone —  I am infected

(painting by jessica watts)

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Reflections

©Reflections

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

All Rights Reserved

Reflected in each dew drop,

the beauty of your smile.

I quench my thirst with each

and drink in your kisses.

I catch your lips with mine in

the unbroken water of the puddle;

our lovers' kiss is with lips not wet

yet soaked with desperation...

reflected nowhere, only felt.

Mimi-Mona Romantic Poetry: He Said, I'm Still Falling

©He Said, I'm Still Falling

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

Still F

A

LL

I

N

G

breathless

and on fire

inside —again

Floating A

R

O

U

N

D

you, I

see your tear

ducts are dry

It's possible I'm fading.

You know, I could hear

myself growing colder,

broken in two by you.

I'm less here

then you are there;

sent to the abyss

by your unspoken love

Yes, I'm F

A

LL

I

N

G

breathless

and on fire

inside —again

Maybe it's just another

light I see that spins

colors around the room;

a blue light's in your eyes.

your dress hangs 

by my window —

and my world is

under it with love.

I'm F

A

LL

I

N

G

breathless

and on fire

inside —again

There's a star outside

that window and I think

I see it fall-ing

A

W

A

Y

I

think

it's

sending

my message

of love to you;

your smile's crashing

into my dreams —

crashing me...

five

four

three

two...

it's crashing into my life

Still F

A

LL

I

N

G

breathless

and on fire

inside —again

Still F

A 

LL 

I 

N 

G 

breathless 

and on fire 

inside —again

 

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Sunday's Murder of Crows

©Sunday's Murder of Crows

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

Sometimes, more often and not,  

I wake wondering Am I a vampire?  

Metallic taste--more than one spot--

covers my teeth; they require 

a sweeping tongue, long on spittle,

short on the blood it can taste.

Teeth clenched, they're almost brittle.

It's what I do at night, lay in waste

and nightmares of you alone,

in Mexico without me,

A murder of crows after your bone

and you cry for me as them you flee.