Mimi and Mona Poetry: My Pentagon Chamber

Everyone has one, or should have one. Here are my thoughts on my own.

©My Pentagon Chamber

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Surely it was only the breeze

rustling the branches outside,

ruffling my notebook’s pages

as I sat on the window seat

at the easternmost end

facing another window.

A poet’s loft. Honestly,

more a euphemism

since it was the attic—

one enclosed in glass—

over a desert adobe where

sunrise drew my heart north.

This pentagon chamber,

bright and cheery by day,

serene and sensual by night

with its dark veil

at every side, in every corner,

became my own bower.

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Silent Sunday at Dawn

Sometimes I get dreamy and love thoughts increase. Sometimes I write the poems you read here. Sometimes the poems write themselves. Or, maybe the words come from the dreams I have in that space of time when I first come to conscious thinking but before my eyes open. The following poem wrote itself; then again, maybe it was from the luscious dream I had this morning.

©Silent Sunday at Dawn

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Stars that surfeited the sky

lose their brilliance

when the sun peeks

over the desert’s horizon.

A warm breeze whispers

through the Piru Queen palms

outside my chamber’s glass

and it’s like my lover’s breath

that teases the fine hairs

at my nape when his head

bows to kiss my bare shoulders.