Sunday's Murder of Crows by Mimi Wolske

I know; this is sooo 2010, but here's a Throwback Thursday Poem from 2014

©Sunday’s Murder of Crows

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske - Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

sometimes, more often than 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.

If you cock your head left a little, you will see the world through your favorite color. Cock it a little to the right and suddenly words spill from you to hypnotize others. That's creativity and it is you at your best.

© EXPOSED

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

’Twas the season of the thawed, frostbitten

pen and brush and a mad woman’s long-kept

secret in the attic of her temple that began with

words and hues losing power because they

were never spoken for ears to hear nor

brought into the light for eyes to see.

She danced around in a half-hidden war zone

on the edge of the universe worried whether

a room crowded with critics would or could

appreciate the life and love she breathed into

her children left hanging on bland walls and

bound in inked pulp to be plucked from tabletops.

(art: American artist Michael Volpicelli creates detailed portraits of people and animals out of written words related to them.)