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The curtain closes March 20, 2011

Posted by Princess Wordplay in Uncategorized.
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As of today, this blog is officially closed. You can join me for all new adventures at:

http://www.princesswordplay.com

Hope to see you there!

Secrets, Secrets October 12, 2010

Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor, Romance/Women's Fiction.
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This is an unreleased sequel to a short humor piece called Karmic Retribution. You can find that one HERE if you haven’t read it/it’s been a while. And now, on with the show…

 

RATED “M” for coarse language and mild suggestive content.

 

Secrets, Secrets

My work days begin with sunlight. No screaming alarm clock, no hurried grooming, no skipping breakfast, no rush to catch the bus. Self employment is a dream turned reality. It’s hard to believe nine months earlier I was living a nightmare.

 

Those playful little sun rays finally coaxed me to consciousness, and I shook the last of the sleep out of my eyes. It was Monday; clock read 9:48 AM.  My mind drifted to the night before and my first real date since the breakup.  Believe me; I had my dirty little doubts. We had met Saturday night, found fellowship at the bottom of a bottle, and woke up together the morning after.

 

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you. A single girl’s got needs too. The thing is I never expect a drunken fling will spawn a long term relationship.  Shit, I half expected her to be one of those jilted sperm dumpsters that was more les-experiment than she was lesbian. I was shocked when she asked for my phone number and outright floored when she called later that day.  When I accepted her invitation to a night out with friends, I soon discovered that the surprises had only just begun.

I was jerked from my dreamy flashback when my phone’s speaker came alive with AC/DC’s Money Talks. Ten O’clock, right on time.

 

“Hey Bryan.”

 

“Good Morning Piper. Have a good weekend?”

 

“All kinds of crazy shit. You?”

 

“Becky went out with some friends. I stayed home and changed diapers, cleaned up puke, sang lullabies.”

 

“You’re still the most exciting accountant I know.”

 

He laughed, fully aware that I didn’t know any other accountants.

 

“Thanks. I see you’ve been a busy beaver, huh? You took in over five grand this past week.”

 

“Yea, I really cleaned up. You get while the getting’s good.”

 
“You got yours, all right. What’s the plan for this week?”

 

“My rent’s coming due, cell phone bill also. I need about $800 for groceries and spending cash, and that should cover it.”

 

“Eight hundred for groceries? What army are you feeding?”

 

“Well, groceries and there’s a sale at Macy’s…”

 

“Say no more, you can afford to splurge.  I’m looking things over, and I figure even after we make your quarterly estimated tax payment, you’ll still be sitting on a nice sum. There’s a mutual fund I’ve been watching that’s showing some nice steady growth. I had the idea maybe we could start with about two grand and see if we can earn you a little return.”

 

“Oh my God, this is insane.”

 

“Calm down, Piper, it’s just a low risk fund. If you’re that nervous we can just forget about it…”

 

“No, no… I trust your judgment. It’s just… A few months back I was punching a clock, slumming it out in a sleazy no-lease  efficiency and pondering whether I could get away with using butter flavored cooking spray on my toast because I couldn’t afford to buy margarine. Now I set my own hours, I’ve got this gorgeous apartment in a high-rise overlooking the park, and I’m talking about investments with my accountant. I have an accountant! This is insane!”

 

“You deserve it, you’re a talented person. Did you know Becky talks non-stop about how proud she is?”

 

“You’re making that up!”

 

“Would I lie to my favorite sister-in-law?”

 

His wife, Rebecca, is my only sister.  My own joke had been turned on me.

 

“Ha, very funny, Bry. Go ahead and make that investment if you think it’s smart.”

 

“Will do. I ought to have that money in your personal checking account within the hour, and I’ll mail a cashier’s check for your rent and pay your phone bill online.”

 

“Don’t forget your cut on the first of the month.”

 

“If you insist. You’re family and this is easy stuff. I don’t have to charge you, you know.”

 

“Maybe not, but I say you do. I’m not poor and part of that is credited to your head for numbers. You’re the greatest, Bry, I mean that. Tell Becks I love her, k?”

 

“Of course.  Talk to you next week if I don’t see you sooner.  Don’t forget Auntie Piper is free to visit Michaela anytime she wants.”

 

“I won’t! Bye.”

 

I suppose some people might say letting my big sister’s husband handle my finances is a mistake, but I trust Bryan. He’s a good accountant and because he’s family I know my secret is safe. Anonymity is a big deal in this business. You don’t want certain people finding out who you are.

 

After my phone call with Bryan, I fueled up on toaster waffles and grapefruit juice before jumping in the shower.  I’d forgotten how luxuriously divine hot – not lukewarm, mind you, but hot – water was until I moved in here.  The shower is spacious, plenty of room for two, though I’d not yet utilized it for company. This realization yielded wishful thinking, my thoughts wandering to the image of Vicki and my soapy, slippery fingers wandering across my inner thigh.

 

Somewhere in my head the voice of cold reality interrupted.

 

She likes you now, but what will happen when she finds out what you do for a living?

 

I didn’t know, and I was afraid to find out. My dream bubble burst, the lust vanished, and the novelty of the shower faded. I banished these unpleasant thoughts in the back of my mind and tended to the rest of my hygienic chores. Faded jeans and a cardigan were selected as sufficient attire, and a quick pony tail substituted more elaborate styling.  At a time most people took lunch, I was finally ready to start work.

 

The work was waiting for me, consisting of one email with three attached photos.  Three “marks” and the usual note: See what you can do.  I could do plenty, of course. Piper Reed always gets the job done. It hurts them a little, sometimes even a lot, but they bounce back. It doesn’t kill them.  The public gets served what they like, which pays off for my client, meaning I get paid. Call it unethical if you wish, immoral if your heart insists. I call it business.

 

The first of the marks came easy. My mind’s eye studied the photo carefully, reading the details and absorbing little bits of hidden revelation. I did my research online and from it I put together a timeline that supported the hidden bits. It all came together now: substance abuse and infidelity were the mark’s private sins.

By 3:30pm I had a full report light-speeding into the client’s inbox. The other two weren’t of high priority, so I went to the kitchen for a light afternoon snack. A ringing phone halted my plans. It was the generic ring tone – I hadn’t assigned her a personal one yet. All in due time, I thought.

 

“Well, how’d it go?”

 

“It’s official; I’ve been hired as a full-fledged security analyst!”

 

“Oh Vicki, that’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you!”
It sounded like something you say as a formality. For someone I’d met only two days earlier, it probably should have been. It wasn’t. For whatever reason, I was genuinely happy.

 

“How was your day?”

 

“Dull.”

 

“I forget what it was you did.”

 

“Data entry. Insurance Company. Boring stuff.”

 

Technically it wasn’t a lie. She said “did” and not “do”, after all. I quickly changed the subject.

 

“How’s Courtney doing?” I asked.

 

“She showed up today, which surprised people. They have her sorting incoming snail mail. From what I hear she’s lucky. Had they not been down a person there, the only other opening would have been janitor.”

 

“I’d love to see her scrubbing toilets. You know, I still can’t believe she was your boss.”

“I still can’t believe she is your ex! I never marked her as gay. Maybe more like asexual – she’s so damn full of herself.”

 

“Don’t have to tell me, I lived with her!”

 

“Piper, I really had fun last night. I’m really happy you came with us.”

 

She blurted it out quickly, as if she wanted to say the words before she caught herself and went shy. That day must have been a day for blurting, because I did it, too.

 

“Do you want to go shopping?”

 

“Shopping? For what?”

 

“Clothes, shoes, whatever. There’s a sale on at Macy’s. I was going to head over there today. You want to come?” I bit my lip in hesitation, and then added “We can have dinner afterwards.”

 

The air was consumed by silence.

 

Dammit, I thought.  She thinks I’m coming on way too strong.

 

But she didn’t.  The silence suddenly broke.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

“I can pick you up. Is an hour OK? “

 

“Yea, sure.”  And following a short pause:  “You have a car?”

I hadn’t realized my mistake until she asked me. A car is an unneeded luxury in the city, and I wasn’t supposed to be someone who could afford luxuries.

 

“It’s my sister’s old car. She gave me a huge deal on it.”

 

Both statements were true. If she questioned it, I decided I would make my sister out to be slightly more generous.

 

A little freshening and some sensible shoes had me out the door and into the parking garage. The air was cold and crisp, and the car’s suspension groaned in protest as its frigid joints flexed to the contours of the pavement.  The car adjusted as it warmed up.  I, however, did not. On the short drive over, I began wishing that I had simply suggested a bus or a cab. I tried reassuring myself that it was entirely possible Vicki knew nothing about cars. I almost had myself convinced when I pulled up to the curb.

 

She was standing there, hands in her pockets and a hood drawn tightly around her face.  There was a look of disbelief in her eyes, one that said this must be someone else’s ride. Her gaze drifted down the street, watching for a rattletrap Pontiac, or perhaps a Saturn. I lowered the dark tinted window and shouted over to her in my calmest, most casual voice.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened, confirming that I had just committed myself to another handful of lies. There was an awkward silence as she stepped over and stopped with her hand hovering above the door handle, as if it might be a crime to touch it without permission.

 

“It’s unlocked” I prompted. “Get in. It’s freezing out!”

 

She complied; easing herself into the seat, shutting the door, and fumbling for the seatbelt as I raised the window. I pretended not to notice her nervousness, holding my casual tone as I merged back into traffic.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

 

“Yes. I mean no, no you didn’t. I just got outside. I didn’t see you at first. I guess I wasn’t expecting a…”

 

She bit her lip as if there was some sin in uttering the name. I acted dumb.

 

“Expecting what?”

 

“A Porsche.”

 

It rolled gracefully off her tongue, sending shivers up my spine.  She even used the proper Germanic pronunciation: Pour-Shah, not Pour-Sh.  I played it down like it was nothing special.

 

“It’s just my sister’s old car. When she had the baby it wasn’t practical anymore so she got an SUV.  I didn’t have wheels so she offered to sell it. She practically gave it to me. I’ve been making payments.”

 

“Wow. What does your sister do?”

 

“She was a nurse, but she quit working to stay home with my niece.  Her husband is a certified public accountant.  He runs his own firm, caters to small businesses.  Taxes, payroll, general accounts and so forth, you know… stuff like that.”

 

“That’s really cool. Do they, um, know about you?”

 

For once in my life, I was actually relieved that the subject had changed to my lesbianism.

 

“Oh, yea, that’s nothing unusual in our family. Two of my mom’s siblings are gay, and one of my cousins, too.”

 

“You’re lucky. Mom knows, and my brothers. Dad hasn’t been around since the divorce, that’s going on 19 years already. The rest of the family can’t be allowed to even suspect or there’d be a goddamn war. My Aunt Cathy, she’s a religious nut. She goes to gay rallies and waves around one of those “God hates fags” signs. Her husband stands right next to her. One of my cousins – my Uncle Dwayne’s kid – got suspended from school after he broke a kid’s nose. He told the principal that the kid “musta been some kinda queer”. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, shit, he was proud of himself.”

 

I pondered Vicki’s story for a few seconds before voicing a philosophical comment.

 

“Some people are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

 

“Yea. And some people make up lies because they’re afraid of the truth.”

 

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know, could she? I felt like throwing up.  Vicki quickly realized something was bothering me.

 

“Piper? Are you ok?”

 

“Sure… just a little upset stomach I guess. Nerves, maybe?”

 

We were stopped at an uncomfortably long red light. I reached over and put my hand on her leg. She smiled and placed her hand over mine.

“I get that.”

 

I was lost in her eyes for what seemed an eternity when the blast of a horn alerted me to the fact the light had changed.

 

“Oops!”

 

Vicki laughed, and I joined in.

 

“So, how long ago did you break up with Courtney?”

 

“Almost a year.”

 

“After how long?”

 

“A year and a half.”

 

“I can’t imagine how you ever endured that.”

 

“She’s nice when she wants to be.”

 

“How often is that?”

 

“When being a raging bitch doesn’t work.”

 

“Which is when?”

 

“Not often. In the beginning, she was as sweet as can be.  After about five months of dating she asked me to move in and I said yes. I should’ve known better, there was this… falseness… about her, you know?  I was lonely and I refused to see it. All she wanted was someone to push around, and once she had me in a compromising position, she knew she could get away with it. Until I left, that is. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I just packed up and left. ”

 

Vicki sat quiet and reflective for a while. When she spoke, her words penetrated me like one of those warming sunrays.

 

“I’ll never pretend to be something I’m not in front of you. I promise.”

 

It was then that I realized the truth would have to come out, but I didn’t know when – or how – I would manage it.

***

The Macy’s sale was a store-wide blowout, so we weren’t surprised to see the place packed. What did catch me off guard was the unexpected run-in with two familiar faces and one adorably cute infant. Becky opened with the requisite rhetorical question.

 

“Piper! What are you doing here?”

 

“Shopping.  And you?”

 

Bryan answered for her.

 

“Your sister has some crazy idea that Michaela requires enough outfits to clothe an entire third world country. Being the obedient spouse, I try not to argue.”

 

Michaela, either in agreement or protest, flung her pink rattle down the aisle, which Bryan silently fetched.  Becky just laughed and shook her head.

“Sometimes I envy you. Having a man around can be a real chore.  Who’s your friend?”

 

“Vicki,” I said, “This is my sister Rebecca, and her husband Bryan. The Olympic toy tossing champion is Michaela.”

 

Michaela squealed with delight and hurled the rattle again, this time hitting a frumpy looking older woman in the back of the leg. Becky apologized, trying her damndest not to smirk. The woman gave an audible “humph” and scurried off.

 

Vicki exchanged pleasantries with Becky and Bryan and made kissy faces at Michaela, who reciprocated by sticking out her tongue.

 

“She’s a darling,” Vicki said, to which everyone concurred.

 

“Well, I suppose we should leave you ladies to your buying” said Bryan, much to my relief. The fact that nothing had been said to incriminate me was a complete miracle. We exchanged our goodbyes – everyone happy to have met Vicki and likewise – and parted ways.

 

I found several pairs of jeans, a couple tops, and a cute pair of white and pink running shoes. Vicki, who tried a number of things on, chose not to buy anything. I soon realized that each item she placed on the dressing room’s return rack reduced the smile on her face by a fraction. That’s when it hit me – it wasn’t that she didn’t want the items; she just couldn’t afford to buy them.

 

She emerged from the dressing room wearing a stunning lavender blouse, glanced in the mirror, and in a dull monotone announced that it wasn’t her color.

 

“What are you talking about? It looks fantastic on you. Purples are the hot shades right now, and besides – it’s 40 percent off!”

 

“Maybe, but… I don’t know. I’m a little short this week, my rent will be due, and my credit card is maxed. Once my new salary kicks in I’ll be fine, but for now…”

 

“I’ll loan you the money.  Don’t worry about it.”

 

There was that look again, the same deer-in-the-headlights gaze she had when I pulled up in a Porsche.

 

“You can’t! We hardly know each other!”

 

I gave her my own look: a bold, dominating glare that demanded compliance.

 

“That’s bullshit. If I was comfortable enough to let you take me home, I ought to have the right to extend you credit if I damn well feel like it.”

 

She looked at me with scolded puppy dog eyes through strands of buttery blonde bangs. Then, without warning, she wrapped her left hand around the back of my neck, placed her right hand against my cheek, and pressed her lips against mine.  An intense tingling sensation swept through my entire body as mouths opened and tongues blissfully intertwined. I knew then that Saturday had not been a detached fling. It was magic in the making.

 

We halted, not out of want, but necessity, simultaneously realizing the dozen or so security cameras sweeping the area had made us involuntary voyeurs.  Vickie’s eyes were filled with endearment now, and her voice was almost a whisper.

 

“As soon as I get my tax refund, I’m paying you back.”

 

“Fine, but we’re going to replace those raggedy bras of yours too.” I said, noting the well worn strap peaking from the neck hole of the now off-kilter blouse.

 

“Ok, sure. They’re in really bad shape.”

 

She paused momentarily.

 

“Piper?”

 

“Uh huh?”

 

“Are you sure you can afford this?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

One blouse and a few bras turned into a spree, with me dressing up Vicki as if she were my own life-size Barbie doll. The question of how I could afford it did not come up, but would eventually – of this I was certain.  No matter, because I would refuse to accept a dime for any of it. I was serving the penance for my lies in dollars and cents.

 

Vicki announced she needed to use the restroom, a need I claimed not to share. I knew if I allowed her to see the total she would insist it was too high. Her absence would allow me to check out without argument.  By the time she returned, the items were bagged and ready.

 

“How much was it?”

 

“Oh! I already put the receipt away. Uh… your stuff was around… one sixty? One eighty? I’ll look later.”

 

The estimate was accurate – give or take four hundred bucks or so.

 

“Well, Ok. What do you want to do for dinner? I’ll buy this time.”

 

In my head, the scenarios played out. If I told her now, she might hate me forever, and refuse the things I’d bought for her. If I gave her a day or two to start wearing them, they’d no longer be returnable and she’d feel obligated to pay me, meaning I’d have at least one more chance to beg her forgiveness.

 

No, I decided. I simply couldn’t delay this any longer. The dishonesty was eating me alive.

“How about Chinese take-out? I’d like to show you my apartment, if that’s ok with you.”

 

“Yea, that sounds great.”

 

Her eyes lit up, assuming my motive was sex, not confession. The sex part was tempting, and the carnal side of me wanted to put it first, but I knew the moment she saw my apartment the charade would come to an end.

 

On the ride to my place, Vicki told me all about her new position and went into great detail about internet security and the unbelievable amount of labor involved in protecting a large-scale search engine from malicious acts. It was a fascinating story, even though she had to omit certain confidential bits.

 

I think that’s what did it. You know – the confidentiality thing. As I pulled into the parking garage it occurred to me that we all have our secrets, many for good reason, and that’s ok as long as you’re honest about their existence.

 

At that point, the words just started falling out.

 

“Vicki, I don’t work at an insurance company. I used to, but I quit. I’m self employed now.”

 

“Why did you lie to me? What… what do you do?”

 

“I was afraid that you’d think less of me, maybe even hate me, but then I realized that I didn’t want to hide anything from you. I brought you here to show you what I do. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, as long as you understand that everything is confidential.  My personal safety depends on it.”

 

“Is it illegal?”

 

“No, it isn’t. I’ll show you. Come upstairs with me, and I’ll show you. Will you come?”

 

She hadn’t much choice, with that big ass bomb of a cliffhanger I just left her.  She nodded her head, and followed me across the garage and into the elevator. When I unlocked the door to my apartment and we stepped inside, she gasped.

 

“This place is gorgeous!  And… Huge! The rent must be sky high!”

 

“It’s twenty-four hundred a month.”

 

“Oh… my God! How much money do you make?”

 

“Around three grand a week, sometimes more. Last week was over five.”

 

I was going to invite her to sit, but she collapsed into the recliner from shock before I could say anything.

 

“And the car… isn’t really your sister’s?”

“It is, or it was.  I bought it from her two months ago.  No payments, just cash.”

 

“How much cash?”

 

“I told you she gave me a deal. Twenty-eight grand.”

 

 

“Oh my God.”

 

“You sure you’re ok with knowing? It has to be kept a secret.”

 

“You’re sure it’s not illegal?”

 

“Cross my heart.”

 

“I won’t tell anyone. I swear.”

 

I picked up a copy of Star and dropped it into her lap.

 

“That’s mine.”

 

“You… own a tabloid?”

 

“No, but I wrote the cover story.”

 

“That’s what you do, write tabloid articles?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Are these stories real?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The photo tells the story.  I’m just the translator.”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

 

She stood up and followed me over to the second bedroom that I used as an office. I woke the computer up, but turned the rightmost of my dual monitors off.

 

“We’ll look at that in a minute. First…” I pointed to the picture displayed on the left monitor. “Look at this picture. See his eyes? They look tired, bloodshot, don’t they?”

 

Vicki agreed.

 

“Why do you think that is?” I asked.

“Um, jet lag?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not. Look at her…” This time I pointed to the star’s wife.  “See that look on her face? How does she look to you?”

 

“Tired out, I guess. They both look like they’ve just gotten off a plane.”

 

“Ok, now let’s look at it from my point of view.”

 

I switched the right monitor back on, and allowed her to read the article I had submitted earlier that day.  She read the title out loud.

 

“Angie furious with Brad after all-night bash.”

Her eyes continued downward, occasionally reciting a line or two.

 

“…allegedly using cocaine and ecstasy…”

“…encountered a former girlfriend”

“…personally met him at the airport…”

 

“Oh wow… I never would have thought… is this real?”

 

“Look at the picture. Do you see the story in the picture now?”

 

“Wow. How do you do that?”

 

“It just comes to me, I guess. You don’t think badly of me, do you?”

 

“Well, no. I confess I read these things all the time.  Getting kicked around in the tabloids is just a side effect of being a star, something they just have to accept. No, I don’t think badly of you. How on earth did you get into this?”

 

“It was an accident. I was at the newsstand one afternoon grabbing a paper, hoping to find a better paying job. There was a bit of a line, so I started reading the tabloid headlines to pass time. I saw this ridiculous headline and without realizing it, said ‘Who believes this crap?’ out loud. This guy standing in line behind me says ‘What, you think you could do better? Think you could come up with a believable story?’”

 

“I told him yes, I could, probably half drunk and standing on my head to boot. He hands me a business card and says ‘send me an email, and we’ll give you a try’. Turns out this guy is an editor for a rag. I did what he asked, he sends me some useless candid of a wash-up, and I came back with a story that blew him right out of his chair. He sent more photos, I sent more stories. I started getting in touch with other editors, and now I write for five different ones. I went from barely living to living… here… in under a year. “

 

“That’s incredible. I knew from the minute I met you that you were smart, and creative… but wow, this is really something.”

 

“You can’t say a word.”

 

“I won’t”

 

“You’re not mad?”

 

“I was a little hurt, but I understand why you were afraid to say anything.”

“I’m sorry”

 

“It’s ok.”

“Hungry?”

 

“Yea.”

 

“I’ll order us some of that Chinese. I’ll buy though.”

 

“Piper! I said I would! ”

 

“Yes, but I obviously sweat money, so I’m telling you not to worry about it.”

 

“Fine, but I will pay you back for those clothes.”

 

“You will not! Those are a gift. Now we’re even.”

 

“Even? Even for what?”

 

“For that stunt you pulled on Courtney at the bar. The way you hurt her, after all the hurt she caused me…  Oh come on, Vicki, that was worth the stuff I bought you. You totally made my day.”

 

“But I have to…”

 

“The only thing you have to do is keep kissing me the way you did at Macy’s, because if you don’t, I will surely die.”

 

She smiled, and she did. There went that tingly feeling again.

 

She was looking straight into my eyes when she said it.

 

“I feel different when I’m with you. Special.”

 

“Will you stay the night? You’ve got brand new clothes to wear to work in the morning, and I’ll drive you. I really want you to stay. Please?”

 

“Yes. Of course I will.”

 

“Awesome.  Wait’ll you see the shower. It’s huge.”

“I bet!”

“Oh, don’t let me forget.”

 

“Forget what?”

 

“I need to assign you a ringtone.”

 

The End.


 


 

For All Jingle’s Thursday Poet’s Rally Participants May 6, 2010

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If you are not listed in the blogroll to the right, please comment here and I will add you.

The only requirement is: You must have completed at least one week in the rally. I will check to make sure Jingle has both listed you and noted you as “done” in at least one rally post on her  blog, so no cheating!

Free advertising for you!

April is National Poetry Month: FINALE April 30, 2010

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Who is this girl and how is she so vain,

To rearrange the stars to write her name;

What is her motive, what has she to gain,

In writing words that dance like candle flame?

.

What great muse drives this siren of the verse,

Whose whisper in her ear creates a spark;

Does it intend a blessing or a curse,

Is this strange creature angelic or dark?
.

What is the magic enchanting the ink,

What sort of sorcery propels the pen?

No schedule dictates what she should think,

No  calendar exists to tell her when.

.

The Princess Poetess, with words she plays

Victorious, she completes thirty days

April is National Poetry Month: Day 29 of 30 April 29, 2010

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I touched a rainbow today

Some multi-colored magic

In a mysterious mist

You can imagine the shock

When the same rainbow reached back

A living breathing life force

Raised from slumber by my hand

Today I learned a lesson

Your instinct deserves your trust

Ignore the ignorant fools

Who condemn chasing rainbows

April is National Poetry Month: Day 28 of 30 April 28, 2010

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Behold the fallen angel on the lawn

Suffering under twisted broken wings

Her breathing slows before approaching dawn

Anticipating peace only death brings

April is National Poetry Month: Day 27 of 30 April 27, 2010

Posted by Princess Wordplay in Poetry.
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bitter tears of woe

a riptide of resentment

who is this woman

Last haiku (I’ve been catching up on my work, sorry)

tomorrow is a sonnet.

April is National Poetry Month: Day 26 of 30 April 27, 2010

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What a day it was

been living in a dream world

a fairy princess

April is National Poetry Month: Day 25 of 30 April 25, 2010

Posted by Princess Wordplay in Poetry.
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5 comments

angels sing

how sweet is the sound

homecoming

I’m a day early:)

I’m also exhausted. You wouldn’t believe the energy it takes to sit in bed all damn day.

Thank you all for your kind words. As a writer, it is humiliating to admit that I cannot find words strong enough to express my gratitude.

It’s feckin’ good to be back.


Poetry Month Day 24 April 24, 2010

Posted by clavier dynamics in Poetry.
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3 comments

Floral Fantasia

by Kiera O’Brien

Today, while sitting in my room

I sat and watched a flower bloom

A rainbow blossom sprung to life

Despite a life of pain and strife

I’m oh so proud that I was there

And wore that flower in my hair

Pleasure I found, admittedly

From others wishing they were me

But I found the greatest pleasure

Was that flower that I treasure

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