Roger Williams Plays

Roger Williams plays
as the days dwindle -
we search for kindling
and Oolong tea brews.
The leaves the hue of a barn fire
take a flyer and are tossed;
drift past the window
Roger Williams plays
trees sway in the breeze
pleased to be rid of molting 
vegetation in celebration.
Falling leaves of red
and gold embossed with
a time stamp to be trampled
and piled, hours wiled away -
kids at play. Roger Williams too.
Summer kisses forgotten,
hands sun-burned and gnarled
you went away, winter's song
plays. I miss you most darling
when Roger Williams plays.

© JPW - 2013

Poetry Jam - October

dVerse: Open Link Night #116

Conflagration

Molten heat, flesh dripping
with the perspiration of passion's fire.
Crimson patches with crusted edges;
blisters of the resistant strain of hearts
wanting
more to ignite and burn in sacrifice;
the stench of charred skin,
a blood offering to the gods who pander
to  longing. 
The pyre broils unbridled, arms out-
s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d and reaching to
breach the ford between
love and lust. A bridge.
It is what is, from the sanctuary
of solitary souls. Barren.
No one watches,
no one sees from whence smoke rises.
Immolation 
becomes my affliction,
setting myself ablaze for adulation's sake,
an implosion of inward emotions laid bare.
And there, where only ash remains
a powdered stain where once hearts conjoined.

© JPW 2013


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