Haunting

An unknown model, posed, half sits, half lies,
her flowing contours etching deep within
the movements of the artist's hand and eyes,

until her image, line by line, was there
upon the sketch book page beneath his pen.
Around him, life continued, unaware.

That night, the tilted shutters of his blind
were backdrop, as her ghostly form appeared.
In shades of grey she lingered in his mind...

Written for In Tandem #12 - why not come a join in? I've also linked this to Imaginary Garden and d'Verse-poets pub.

A Trying Triolet

The age old art of writing rhyme 
a poet’s fond endeavour,
can take unconscionable time
the age old art of writing rhyme;
he seeks perfection with each line
though he achieve it never,
the age old art of writing rhyme,
a poet’s fond endeavour.


I couldn't resist posting this ready made triolet when I saw that Grace had chosen the form for her Imaginary Garden post, and inspiration for a new one was lacking today - although I may add another later, if the muse strikes. Stranger things have happened...

And here is mark two, already. The muse must have been listening...

If words decide they must be heard
all poets have to pay them heed;
we know writing can't be deferred,
if words decide they must be heard.
They sing as sweet as any bird
rejoicing, as from cage it's freed...
If words decide they must be heard
all poets have to pay them heed.