When You’re Gone

I can see you but you’re not in sight,

I am with you but we don’t meet,

I hear you speak but we don’t talk

You are my memories in daytime,

And my dreams that come at night.


I hold you but we don’t embrace,

I smell your scent but you’re not there,

I sense your thoughts but I’m asleep,

You are all the touches on my skin,

And all that whispers upon my face.


I feel your warmth but I am cold,

I taste your thirst but I can’t drink,

I know your hunger but I don’t eat,

You were all I ever wanted,

And all my tales that were untold.


I’m at your grave but you’re not here,

I bring you flowers but you can’t smell,

I share my woes but you don’t help,

You were all that was good and true,

And all that’s left is hurt and fear.


I yearn for you but know you’re gone,

I bear the pain but fear I’m weak,

I hope for peace but the war still rages.

You were all that made me strong,

You were my life, you were my one.



Monday’s date was fair of face,

A northern accent but just a trace.

A sharpened suit and polished shoes,

But I could not see past greyish hues.


Tuesdays date was full of grace,

He wore a shirt with Belgian lace,

A dazzling smile that nearly blinded,

I was not a man, I think he minded.


Wednesdays date was full of woe,

Dressed in black from head to toe.

Tattooed arms that screamed of death,

The stench of which was on his breath.


Thursday’s date had far to go,

I think I scraped the barrel low.

Yellowed teeth and a nylon wig,

His last six months on a drilling rig.


Fridays date was loving and giving,

But still I felt a slight misgiving,

Perhaps it was the constant petting,

The rising bulge and heavy sweating.


Saturdays date worked hard for a living,

I was not proud, I was forgiving.

But when he said we’d split the bill,

I shot a look and I aimed to kill.


Sunday came and I recalled each day,

The bonny, blithe, the good and gay.

I watched a film and drank some wine,

I’d leave the hunt for some other time.


Closing The Door On Love

Your whispered words are not enough, to make me stay, to make me love.

Hollow words that hold no weight, you say them now but they are too late.

I cried first tears and a thousand more, on oh so many nights before,

In lonely hours when I grieved, you’d thought me weak, I was deceived.


You asked me once for a second chance then healed the hurt with wild romance,

It was the same the fourth time too, I believed it then and I believed in you.

I brushed away the thoughts of blame and moved beyond the hurt and shame,

To focus on the here and now, it was all I could do, all my heart would allow.


But once again the fog seeped in and I sensed the distance and I saw it begin,

First the calls that rang unanswered, late night meetings that came as standard.

Broken dates and sexless passion, there was no guilt, there was no compassion.

It was then I knew it would be the last, for I had no strength for second class.


You watched me leave with eyes so wide, in shock and awe at the turning tide.

It was then I saw the truth emerge like the opening petals of a flowering spurge,

For I was not weak, I was strong I knew, and the weakest link in this was you.

So I turned, I walked, I closed the door, and showed you then I loved no more.


Love At First Sight

It’s time again for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word (give or take) challenge on a photo prompt provided by the extremely creative Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Copyright - John Nixon

(Photo by John Nixon)

He bumped her arm; it was just by chance,

She did not scold, just spared a glance.

His heart had stilled when he’d seen her there,

With her slender frame and her gold spun hair.


He asked her name, but she did not say.

An instant love, that damn cliché.

He walked away, then glanced back over,

She was the muse and he the observer.


The song of love, it filled his ears,

And wiped away so many years.

The haunting chords of a mandolin,

That played for him and his mannequin.


Below Stairs.

I am still trying to work on my self imposed commitment to try new styles and genres in my writing. Below is a short meld of bits of this and that. Its a kind of story and poem with an historical yet erotic twist thrown in, oh my!    I call it ………………………………practice!



You asked me once if I knew your name, I could not answer, we were not the same.

You had choice and you had reason, If I hoped for more it would be treason.

For I was born to serve the world, and you were born to rule unfurled.

To me there was no name to share, no binding cord to show you care.


The pain you craved was hidden deep, behind stone walls and protected keep,

Yet you came to me and shared your soul, I gave you freedom and I gave you all.

I bared my body to feed your lust, it was my place and to survive I must,

When I wept in pain you drank my tears, until pure joy replaced the fears.


I’m bound and tied, I cannot flee, yet still I yearn for what will be.

I await your feel and crave your touch, and soon the ache becomes too much.

You tease my skin with dark and light, the lash of leather and feathered slight.

The reddened marks they fuel your fire, and still you soar and reach for higher.


You trace your tongue across my flesh, from ear to throat and then refresh,

You squeeze and tease a hardened tip, the trembling throes of passions grip.

Your tongue moves lower across pale skin, I strain against this mortal sin,

Yet how could we reject this force, that ties us blindly in its course.


You untie my bounds and leave to go, you say no words but your eyes they show,

That this is all there will ever be, that you are the master and the servant, me.


(Image from fineartamerica.com)